The Collector
by Demonhunter2
Summary: We are brothers, I would die for you, kill for you, and leave you if it meant saving you. But, you can't save me, I am lost, I am lost to you, to our father, to this world, turn your back, I am destine for hell.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, this is the sequel to Worth Killing For, it isn't imperative to read WKS to know what is going on in this story, just the character of Mike Hanson Sam's lawyer, and why he was in Riker's. So, if you haven't read the other one I am going to put one little part in there so you know what is going on, what deal Sammy made, and what is up with Dean in this chapter.**

**I hope you all like it!!!**

**Chapter 1--No where to go but to hell**

_The man laughed a low sinister laugh, it gave Sam goose bumps "It's not money that I am collecting Sam, it's something much more valuable." Sam stiffened-up; now he knew who this man was. "Now, you remember our deal." _

_Sam's face went pale "I think we should go over the terms of your end of the deal. Shall we?" He said with a wider grin.__

* * *

_

Holding Dean tightly he spoke calmly, soothing him, and very lovingly he put his hand around Dean's waist, there was no way out for him.

"Stop fighting Dean, it's not going to kill you. It's just a sedative. Please just stop fighting, stay here, find a wife, have two point three kids, and forget about me. I'm lost."

* * *

In the darkness he felt his fingers move slightly, coming back to life, back to consciousness. Moments later he felt his eyes open, slowly, blurred. The world didn't make sense, his body wasn't his, not at that moment, it belonged to the drugs. They held onto him with fierceness, not allowing him full awareness, not allowing him to control his body. Slowly its grip loosened. He blinked, moved his head, and moaned softly, his pain echoing in the empty room.

Now he could see the other bed, now he could move his arms, and feel the pain in his head. He moved his arm to get-up and failed miserably, plopping back onto the bed.

_Why the hell can't I move…oh right…OH GOD!_

"Oh God!" His voice a whisper, he moaned again.

_Son of bitch!_

He moved his arm to sit-up again. Success!! The room moved; it blurred, and teetered. He became dizzy and fell to the floor, hitting his knee smartly on the hard wood flooring. He grunted, and gritted his teeth; his breathing increased…._Damn you get-up!_

He tried again, the dark room spun; he couldn't make it stop. He reached for the light, knocking it over. He fumbled as he switched the light on; wincing and hissing loudly. He looked around, quickly; the room was empty. He crawled to his bed, using it to get himself up.

"Sam? Sammy, you here?" He shouted, wincing at the volume of his own voice.

"Sammy…? Please…please tell me you didn't go…?" He raked a heavy hand over his face and, taking a few slow steps, he searched the room.

He found Sam's coat, and shoes, and further on he found his cell. "Shit…how the hell am I suppose to track him?" He threw the cell hard onto the floor.

Dean sat down and gently placed his head into his hands, rubbing them softly on his temples and forehead, hoping to take away the drug's powers. He got-up and went to the washroom, splashed water onto his face, knowing full well it would do nothing to ease his nausea or his bouts of dizziness, but needing to try everything. He quickly moved towards the toilet and threw-up. His stomach was in agony as the retching went on and the drugs continued to create chaos in his system. He sat on the floor for a moment. That felt like an hour, leaning his head against the cool of the porcelain tub. Wiping the tears from his eyes uneasily, he got-up and left the washroom.

He dragged his feet as he walked through the apartment, limping a little until he found his brother's duffel bag. Rummaging through it, he found the same things he found a few weeks ago. Nothing new there, so he limped over to Sam's coat…he found Sam's wallet with all his fake credit cards and IDs. He looked on Sam's bed, hoping that maybe he left a note…nothing. Dean could feel the anger boiling inside of him and he threw the bed pillow, then the lamp…he heard the crash, saw it break into a few pieces, but the light bulb didn't break.

"SON OF A BITCH…how could you…?" He stopped himself, who the hell was he talking to?

He looked around the apartment some more, he stuck with Sam when he was in prison, and he bails on him. Then he remembered that Sam had said something just before Dean passed out. Dean thought for a minute…then he remembered.

"Please just stop fighting, stay here, find a wife, have two point three kids, and forget about me. I'm lost."

"I'm lost…" What does he mean by that? Something must have happened, but what? There must be someone Sam confided in.

* * *

Dean sat with his head resting on his steering wheel. The drug was still making him sick, but he had to get-up, Sam could be anywhere. It had been a day since Sam went AWOL. That was one hell of a sedative he'd given him. With his head still leaning on the wheel, he reached over and opened the door. Groaning softly, he pulled himself out of the car. The drugs made his body feel like it weighed a ton. 

He slowly walked into the building from the parking garage, his mind still reeling over what had happened. He shook his head as he entered the elevator, but immediately realized his mistake. There was a very attractive brunette beside him, secretly hoping he would notice her, but he just kept his eyes fixed on the digital number above him counting down the floors. They finally reached the basement; he walked through the hallway, glancing at the names on the door, the last door on the left Mike Hanson. He knocked lightly on the door and waited until he was invited in.

"We have a big problem," he began, sitting down and rubbing his knee absently. "Sam disappeared I have no idea where he is or why he left."

Mike sat there a bit dumbfounded, "What do you mean he disappeared?"

"I mean he's disappeared. We got home yesterday, about four thirty in the afternoon, he went into the bathroom, and when he came out he _drugged me!_"

"What?" This was a heavy load and Mike hadn't had his morning coffee yet.

"Yeah, he drugged me. He came-up from behind and put a needle in my neck, he said it was a sedative." He pulled on his collar to reveal the small bruise and puncture wound left by the needle.

Mike leaned over and examined the area; it was small but nasty. He shook his head.

"This is a parole violation…Sam can go back to prison for this. What the hell is wrong with your brother?" He asked, exasperated.

"If I knew, I wouldn't have to come to you; I would have talked to him myself…"

"Does he feel like he can talk to you…has he kept secrets from you before?"

"Yeah he has," Dean said quietly. He leaned forward and hung his head, still feeling nauseous.

"But, he knows he can come to me. I need to know…did he say anything that could help me…did he leave anything, like a piece of jewelry, a note…um, anything in an event, like him disappearing or…"

Dean took a deep breath and looked at Mike…he didn't want to say the next part, "In the event of his death." _Oh God! Please don't let him be dead!_

"No, the last time I saw him, we went over the conditions of his parole. He was okay with all the conditions…he seemed fine…he wasn't upset or anything," he said with his eyebrows scrunched. Mike was just as confused about Sam's behavior as Dean was.

"Alright, if anything comes to you, call me." Dean stood-up to leave.

"Wait, we need to report your brother."

"What? No way…I am not going to those corrupt bastards and telling them Sam skipped on his parole!" He said angrily.

"We have to, Dean. If we don't, then they will suspect you or me, or both of us of helping Sam. That means jail time for a crime neither one of us committed. Besides, maybe there was foul play, maybe he got into trouble in prison; we can't take a chance." He studied Dean for a moment.

The younger man was quiet for a moment then nodded his head. Damn Sam, Dean was now doing everything legally. He missed the days when he didn't give a rat's ass whether or not it was legit.

"Fine, I'll go to the pigs, then I'm going to call some friends of ours…maybe they've heard something."

"What about your dad?" Mike knew the relationship between Sam and John was shaky, but Sam may have gone to his father.

Dean laughed inwardly. Get in touch with his father? That will be easy…it might actually be easier tracking Sam down than getting his father on the phone.

"Yeah, I'll try my best."

* * *

"Oh god!" The deputy said under his breath as he stood-up "What the hell do you want Winchester?" He sighed audibly as he ran a hand through his hair. 

Dean wasn't in the mood; he wanted to punch this bastard. "Listen, my brother…"

"What did he do now? Oh, let me guess, he went to a hooker, she said no and he decided to waste her. It's okay, we already have his cell ready; it's reserved for him." He said with a smirk.

Dean gave the deputy a smirk, "Hey how's the ex-Sheriff? Oh, that's right he got a poker through his neck. And, oh yeah, he was corrupt…" _You stupid son of a bitch! _Dean's smirk changed to a genuine smile as the deputy frowned.

"Yeah, but your brother still hasn't been proven innocent…"

"Or guilty," Dean spat out.

They glared at each other for a moment. Dean finally broke the silence.

"I want to talk to the new Sheriff, someone who doesn't have it in for my brother." He growled at the officer, who turned around to go speak to the Sheriff.

* * *

After ten minutes he was sitting in the new Sheriff's office. She was an African-American woman, who at five two, a hundred and ten pounds, looked too young to be a Sheriff. But Dean didn't care…he needed some help and she was unbiased."Mr. Winchester, it's nice to meet the man who brought down half of the town law enforcement." She said wearily, not knowing what to expect from him. 

"Yeah, well, what can I say, I'm damn good at getting the bad guys." He said arrogantly.

She raised an eyebrow; he was arrogant, as she expected and handsome. "So, how can I help you?"

"Well, you know about my brother." She nodded. He swallowed, a little nervous about this new Sheriff. "He got out yesterday, and he was on parole, and um…he's gone."

"What…? He's gone? You mean he committed a parole violation." She knitted her eyebrows together.

"Yeah, I don't know where he is…all his stuff is still in my apartment…I don't know where he is." He blinked away the tears as his voice cracked.

"He drugged me," Dean choked out. He looked at the sheriff to try and get a reading, wondering what she was thinking.

"Alright, I'll get someone to take your statement. We also need you to take a drug test, just to verify your story, and we will put an APB out on your brother." She said sympathetically.

"An APB, we don't have to do that, do we? I mean, he's not dangerous," Dean was starting to sound desperate.

"Mr. Winchester…"

"Just call me Dean," he rubbed his tired eyes.

"Alright, Dean, your brother was charged with murder and rape…"

"He didn't do it!" Dean snapped.

"Technically, he was only let-out because the old Sheriff was corrupt; he wasn't actually found innocent or granted Clemency. Also, he's on parole for assault, he could be a danger."

Dean was about to protest, but she raised her hand and stopped him.

"I know, he's your brother, and you don't want to believe the worst in him. I have a brother too, I never believed he was as bad as everyone said he was…but he was."

"I know my brother. I raised him, took care of him, protected him…no one knows him like I do. So, don't tell me I don't know him." He wasn't angry at her. She seemed to be sympathetic to him and he spoke to her with the same respect she spoke to him.

She nodded, accepting that he would never believe the worst in his brother. "I still have to put an APB out on him."

"Alright." He grumbled, shoulders slumping in defeat.

* * *

After giving his statement to the police, Dean went back to his apartment and started his own investigation. He called most of the contacts on his list…no one had seen or heard from Sam."Hey, Bobby…Yeah I'm fine, no, I'm not fine. Listen, you heard about Sam, and um…I, I don't know where he is." 

"Oh shit! Your dad's going to be pissed." Bobby responded gruffly.

"I know…have you heard anything from Sam, did he say anything to you? I'm going crazy here. I have no idea why he left, I know he's in trouble…and, um…I think the demon has him…or he has been threatening him or something. I just know it has something to do with that bastard."

"Are you sure?" Bobby knew they had their troubles with that bastard, but he had to make sure Dean wasn't jumping to conclusions.

"Sam asked me for an exorcism. He did it, but I think that bastard must've done something. Sam was…I don't know." He said as he hung his head low, his voice baring his desperation.

"No, I didn't hear anything from your brother. I'll call your dad and let other hunters know; maybe someone heard something or saw him. Don't give-up, we'll find him, Dean."

Dean gave a huge sigh of relief. All of a sudden, he felt he really would find his brother.

**

* * *

A few hours earlier. **

Sam woke with a start as bright light was beaming into his eyes. He groaned, and sat up.

"Sir, is everything alright?" The officer inquired.

Sam knew he wasn't supposed to, but he got out of his car and blinked, the officer's flashlight shown strongly in his eyes.

"Yeah, why?" Sam put his hand over his eyes, the exhaustion showing in his voice.

"License and registration, please, sir."

Sam opened the front door, reached in for his license and registration and handed it to the officer. He took them and, shining his light downward, studied the documents. Sam was relieved the light wasn't on him anymore.

"Sam Ryan. Sam, what are you doing out here."

"Sleeping."

"Sir, that's dangerous, someone could lose control of their vehicle and hit you. There's a motel about two miles from here; why don't you check-in for the night.

"I only have fifty bucks, it's for gas and food." He said, the exhaustion overwhelming him. He lost his balance, and the officer eyed him suspiciously.

"Sir, have you been drinking or doing drugs?"

"What? No, I'm just tired. Listen, I'll get going; it's not far where I'm going, so…I'll be fine." He winced as the light went back onto his eyes.

"Sir, I need you to do some tests for me."

"What for?" Sam asked angrily.

"I can't have you going when I suspect you are intoxicated."

"But, I told you I'm just tired."

"Sir, please put your arms out to your side and bring your hand in to touch your nose with your finger, eyes…" Sam had had enough of the stupid cop and his damn light. He punched him square in the face.

The officer fell backwards; Sam charged him and landed another punch, the flashlight falling not too far from him. Sam picked it up, tossed it into the air and caught it with the light facing him. He raised the flashlight high up and started pounding the cop with it. He could feel his breathing increasing, his heart pounding; he started to smile. He was enjoying making this man suffer; he hit the man over and over again.

He beat the officer into unconsciousness, then he stopped. He looked at the man lying on the ground and the pool of blood that was forming. He looked down at his hands; they had blood on them, they where shaking. He dropped the flashlight; what the hell was wrong with him? How could he enjoy hurting someone like that?

There was something wrong with him, he knew it. He felt guilty, but deep down inside of himself, a small part of him didn't. He liked it, just like he liked drugging Dean, but now it had become louder. He took more pleasure; he didn't care for this person in front of him, and in a way he didn't care about Dean, either.

Luke Sullivan! That bastard had done something to him…he knew it. He wasn't Sam Winchester anymore…he was someone, something else. He turned around and got into his car and drove off.

* * *

**So, plz R&R, greatly appreciated.**


	2. Chapter 2 The Man With The Red Eyes

**Hope you all enjoy this chapter, it has a surprise ending that will make you squeal, LOL!! But, this story has had two cliffies and next chapter won't. Can't do them all the time. Please R&R, greatly appreciated.**

**Chapter 2--The Man With The Red Eyes**

"Mr. Winchester, how can I help you?" The warden inquired as he entered his office and sat at his desk.

"Yeah, uh, thanks for seeing me, Warden. My brother, Sam, was an inmate here up until a few days ago. He's disappeared and I'm looking into it. I need to know if he was acting strangely…did he have any trouble with the other inmates, did he have any visitors, anything you can tell me would be a greatly appreciated."

"Wow! That was fast!" The warden said under his breath.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh. No, Sam was a model prisoner. No problems, which was a bit of surprise considering his problems at Riker's. I can get you the visitor log-in book."

"That would be great." Dean said with a smile, he might get a break after all.

* * *

Dean flipped through the visitor log book. He saw his name over a dozen times, Mike's name, and their father visited him in Riker's so he knew he wouldn't see his name.

He slammed the July book closed, rubbed his tired eyes and opened August's book. He started to sharply flip the pages, becoming annoyed with the same names over and over again. He suddenly stopped at one page. Some joker had written his name in huge letters…Luke Sullivan. Dean traced his finger to the prisoner's name. "Sam Winchester"

"Hey, do you remember this visitor?" Dean asked as he turned towards the guard who was helping him. He tapped his finger on top of the name.

The guard sighed loudly. He'd entertain this guy for a short time…maybe he'd give-up quickly and realize his brother just bailed on him. He took a look at the name and gave Dean a quick nod of his head.

"That guy was a real weirdo," the guard shuddered.

"What do you mean?"

"He had pale skin, like paper white, bleached blonde hair and red eyes, he's um…um…what do they call them?" He snapped his fingers in success. "An albino, he had a white suit…dude could've blended into the wall, wrote his name way too big, as you can see. He was just weird. Hate to admit this but, he scared the shit out of me!"

"Scared you? Why?" This guy had to deal with a lot of dangerous people in his line of work. He was big, looked like he could give Dean a run for his money; and he was scared of some pasty white weirdo in a suit.

"I don't know…there was just something about him…like he was a lot more dangerous than he looked. The way he looked at me, he looked like he could…" He laughed shakily. "I don't know; he was just scary as hell!"

"You record all visitors inside the visitor room, right?" Dean said hopefully as he put the book down. This was the first real break since Sam disappeared.

"Yeah, but I can't show it to you; I'd get into trouble." Dean pulled out his wallet, and pulled out fifty bucks. "I really need this job." Dean pulled out another fifty and the guard quickly took it, looking around to make sure no one was watching. "Follow me sir."

* * *

"Alright, this is the time of Luke Sullivan's visit."

"I don't want to press my luck, but could I view this privately?" Dean smiled, hoping the guy would give him a break.

"Sorry dude, but I can get into real trouble just by letting you in here; no way am I leaving you alone." Dean reached for his wallet again, Sam seriously owed him!

"Don't even try it; I said no!" The guard snapped.

Dean put his hands up in surrender, grateful for the guards help so far and not wanting to upset the apple cart.

The guard fast forwarded the tape until the man he recognized showed-up "That's him."

"Wow, he is a weirdo!"

Dean watched his brother carefully as the man approached the youngest Winchester's table. They spoke briefly, the man gave Sam something, spoke some more then leaned forward and grabbed Sam's wrist. Sam seemed to be in pain…he tried in vain to take back his arm. The video was a bit shaky, but Dean could see his little brother was terrified.

"What the hell? Shouldn't the guards do something? That bastard was hurting him and they're just sitting there with their thumbs up their asses!" Dean yelled.

"I don't know why they aren't doing anything." The guard shook his head.

"Look at that…he's terrified! That's why he left; this guy threatened him!" Dean yelled.

"Shhh! Keep your voice down!" The guard warned him, nervously watching the door.

"No one is helping…even the people at the table next to them, they're not even reacting," he said much quieter. He swallowed hard at the idea that his brother was…is at the mercy of whomever or whatever came to see him that day.

"I hope this helps." The guard said sincerely.

"Yeah it does, can I get a copy?" Dean smiled; his smile didn't only work on women. The guard gave him a look that told him what it would take to get a copy. Dean pulled out another fifty as he cursed under his breath.

* * *

The young hunter rushed to his car, excited…hopeful. The son of a bitch was going to pay; he would enjoy giving him his dues! As he approached his car he heard his ring-tone, Back in Black. He reached for his cell and flipped it open.

"Hey, you got anything?" He quickly inquired; knowing who was on the other end of the line.

"Yeah, I do, and it's good news and bad," Mike answered with an unhappy tone. "There's a cop who says he saw someone matching Sam's description out on route 80. The guy said he found Sam asleep in his car…"

"Wait, Sam has a car? This is just great." Dean grumbled as he fished for his keys.

"There's more…the cop thought Sam was intoxicated and when he instructed Sam to do some simple test, Sam attacked him." Mike paused, hearing the silence, knowing what Dean was thinking.

He took a deep breath. "Listen Dean, it might not be him, and if it is…he must be in a lot of trouble." He said calmly, reassuring Dean. Mike had gotten use to that job.

"I think it was him. I looked at the visitor log book, and he had a visitor and with a little bribery…"

"Bribery; you didn't!" He said a little shocked, but mostly amused.

"I did." Dean said proudly. "This guy who visited Sam was psychically hurting him. No one helped him, no one stopped the son of a bitch, and he was threatening Sam. Sam…Sam was terrified!" He looked down at his keys, bit back the tears, and choked down the lump in his throat.

"He's in trouble…I know it…" A single tear fell. He looked-up at the grey clouds that were invading the bright blue skies…a coming storm.

"Do you have a name?" Mike had been silent for a while; he felt the same pit in his stomach as Dean did. But, he had come to like both boys in his dealing with them and he wasn't going to let either one of them get hurt if he could help it.

"Luke Sullivan. Can you do a search, Mike? I'm on my way." The younger man wiped his face, taking in a deep breath and trying his best to compose himself.

"Yeah, see you later." And they ended the call.

Dean turned to his car, got in, started the car, and was ready to back up when a guard jumped onto his hood.

"Hey, what the fuck…? Get-off my car!" He shouted at the man who appeared out of nowhere.

"Oh come, I was hoping we could talk." The guard said with a smirk and a wink as he rested his foot on the side mirror.

"I said get-off my car!" Dean yelled; his eyes wide with anger. The man lowered his eyes.

"You'll never find him," he said as he opened his eyes again, revealing now red eyes. His smile widened.

"You son of a bi…" Dean started to open his door, but the guard jumped down and, putting all his weight on the door, slammed it closed.

"I just want to talk, man to man." He tried to place a hand on Dean's shoulder but Dean jerked away.

"You're no man, and I have nothing to say to you, except give me back my brother." He growled at the guard, breathing heavily through his nostrils, his lower lip quiver slightly.

"How would you know what I am? You think I'm a demon, right?" The guard said leaning closer, Dean nodded. "I'm not a demon, but I am concerned." He said, biting his lower lip. His tone changing, he now sounded like a concerned parent. In return, Dean gave him an incredulous look.

"I'm worried about you Dean…you won't give up. Sam told you to forget about him." He lowered his head as if the moment was too overwhelming.

"You're worried about me?" Dean laughed at the notion and the guard lifted his head. "You're some kind of demonic, hell spawn, fucked-up piece of shit; I don't care what you are! I don't need your concern, I need my brother! What I need is for you to leave him alone." He tightened his lips and gritted his teeth. "And if it is the last thing I do, I will save my brother."

"What if it is the last thing you do? Let's say for argument's sake, you do find him, unlikely, but, just for argument's sake. He tells you he doesn't need you, he doesn't need you to save him; that he is happy to do what I ask him to do." He smiled an evil smile; now. The older Winchester could see what the guard inside meant when he said Luke Sullivan scared him. Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his eyes never leaving the man in front of him.

"Tell me Dean, if it is the last thing you do, and you still fail, than what? You die and he still is lost. That's what I am concerned about; I don't need you, I have what I want. I have no beef with you, so why not find a nice girl that you can take to daddy dearest and forget you ever had a brother?"

His voice was low, soothing, laced with concern. It was fake concern, but still it surprised the boy. He had never met a demon like this before, but again he did say he wasn't a demon.

Dean could feel his breath coming in uneven gasps. That was his worst fear…Sam turning evil, Dean unable to save him and, in the end, all his efforts would be in vain.

He swallowed his fears, gave 'the guard' a huge smile and quietly said, "Fuck you, I will never give-up on my brother!" Dean took a lot of pleasure saying that to him.

The guard smiled and shook his head. "It's your funeral. You think Ol' Yellow Eyes is a formable enemy…" He laughed. "I eat demons like him for breakfast." Dean had had enough of their 'talk'. He pushed the guard away from his door, opened it, and got out.

"I don…" He started, but the guard smiled grabbed his wrist; he'd finally gotten his chance.

"Shhhh! Dean, why do you fight so much? Okay, you want to see him? I'll let you…how 'bout we make a _deal?_" Dean found himself in a trance, losing himself inside the red eyes; they engulfed him, soothed him, hushed his fears and told him 'everything would be okay, just do whatever the man with the red eyes tells you to do.'

"A deal?" Dean repeated the guard's last words absentmindedly.

"Yes, a deal. You get reunited with little brother for ten years of complete bliss, and in return I get something valuable." He smiled, tightening his grip on Dean's wrist.

Dean shouted at himself, screamed within himself to do something, _pull away! Pull away! _He could hear the growling of thunder above him, but it held no meaning; he was becoming lost…lost like his brother. _Sam…we need Sam, take the deal!_

A single rain drop fell on Dean's forehead, then another. He breathed, blinked….then another one dropped; he realized what was happening…what really was happening. He pulled his hand away, revolted at what almost happened. He stumbled backwards and back into his car, started powerful engine and peeled out of the parking lot.

Once Dean was gone, the 'guard' turned back into his albino form, walked to a white stretched limo and got in. Someone sitting beside him handed him a Cuban; he put it into his mouth and lit it. Blowing out smoke, he made his decision.

"Sick your dogs on him; we can't allow him anywhere near Sam." He shook his head at the lost chance…almost had him.

* * *

Sitting in the comfortable chair, Dean could feel his body shaking. It was soaked with water; his clothes clung to him like a second skin. The cold and wet chilling him to the bone, he shook deeply. His head in his hands, he went over what just happened at the prison in his mind. He almost made a deal, for what? What did he mean by something 'valuable'? How could he allow himself to be influenced like that? He heard the door open and close behind him; he raised his head and met Mike's stunned gaze.

"Are you okay…? You said you would be right over; that was over six hours ago! I was worried sick about you! I thought something happened to you." Mike was scared out of his mind…sitting here for six hours, waiting and wondering if Dean had gotten himself killed.

"Six hours? It's only been an hour" He gave Mike a confused look; Mike picked-up his desktop clock and showed Dean the time. He stared at the clock…it couldn't be right! He looked out the window; it was nighttime!

"Dean…what happened?" Their eyes met, and Mike could see the confusion and exhaustion in the young man's eyes.

"I don't know. I left as soon as we hung-up…there was this guard…he, he has Sam…he was messing with my mind…manipulating me. I…I think I blacked out." He said quietly, the cold seeping in deeper…making him shiver more. His teeth started to chatter together. Looking up at Mike, he hoped his friend wouldn't think he was crazy.

"I'm not crazy…it's true." He added needing to be believed…that he wasn't crazy.

The older man put a hand on the younger man's shoulder and squeezed it gently. "I don't think you're crazy," he lied. "You need some rest; we'll do this tomorrow."

"No!" Dean shot-up, brushing off his friend's hand. "You think I'm crazy…I'm not! How can you doubt me after what you saw at the farmhouse…at the prison with Sam? You know I deal with…the unexplained, the unbelievable, the supernatural. _You know!_" He shouted.

"Dean, calm down; I don't know what you're talking about. Why would a guard have Sam? How did he mess with your mind?" Mike tried to keep his voice calm; Dean was behaving hysterically and he had to talk him down.

"There are things out there…they'll mess with you, tear you apart, have you for breakfast I, we hunt them. Like Green…he was a hunt, then when we figured things out, we tried to put his spirit at peace. There are things out there…demons, werewolves, shtrigas, they'll just tear you apart." He rambled on, he was pleading, begging to be believed.

"Dean, stop it your scaring me!" The admission surprised Dean, but he understood it…he was scared shitless as well.

"It's true, and sometimes it scares me too, but if you watch the tape you _will_ know I'm not lying and I'm not crazy." He pulled out the tape from his jacket.

"I have the cruiser cam; which one do you want to watch first?"

"Yours."

Mike picked-up the tape from his desk and they walked to the small TV. He popped it into his VHS recorder and they began to watch.

Dean watched it intently. Sam came out of the car…he seemed annoyed by the light in his face. He handed something to the cop, most likely ID…a few moments later Sam attacked him. Dean involuntarily gasped when he saw his little brother viciously beat the man on the ground with a flashlight.

"Look at that! He stopped…he's looking at his hands like he couldn't believe what just happened; he isn't in control. Maybe he's being manipulated." Dean knew it wasn't Sam who sedated him, not really. This "Luke Sullivan" was manipulating him, controlling him. They even used the same lines…go find a wife, have kids, and just forget about your little brother.

"Yeah, your right; Dean…there's more." He paused for a moment, knowing this would just be another ton of bricks on Dean's shoulders, secretly hoping it wouldn't be the straw that broke the camel's back. Dean lowered his head in exhaustion, shaking it in disbelief. How can there be more, how much worse can this get?

"The cop, he's in ICU. He has internal bleeding and he isn't clotting. Long story short, if he dies, Sam will be a cop killer." Dean's heart stopped, this couldn't be happening!

"They have a warrant out for his arrest; there's a manhunt for him. Dean, if they find him, he may not get out alive. I'm so sorry." Mike said it quietly. He knew if Dean lost his brother, it would kill the young man; he was crumbling already and it had only been a few days.

Dean leaned forward, pressed the button, popped the video out and replaced it with the one from the prison.

"Okay, this is him." Dean pointed to the albino approaching Sam. "Now, when he grabs Sam's arm, it looks like he's hurting Sam and no one helps him." Mike stared at him for a moment; he knew what was going on in Dean's mind; then he watched the tape.

"It's like they don't see or hear what's going on, like Luke is manipulating them so they don't hear or see what is really happening. You see that…look, I'm not crazy." He said desperately; he never cared if people believed him, or what they thought of him. But now, more than ever, he cared. He desperately needed someone to believe him!

"I believe you Dean, you're not crazy." Now he wasn't lying and the proof was right in front of him. "The police will be watching you; they know you will go to Sam, so be careful. I have something for you." Mike got-up, walked to his desk, removed something from a locked drawer and locked it up once again.

"Here, I never want to see you again." He said with his hand stretched out. The words stunned the young hunter; he thought Mike was his friend. He didn't have many, so he valued the few he had. He looked at the envelope and realized what Mike had really meant by never seeing him again.

Dean reached for the envelope and opened it. Inside was all the information on Luke Sullivan Mike could find, passports for both boys, and three thousand dollars. He eyed the money, knowing it was too much.

Dean looked up at his friend, "I can't take this. You have a baby, and legal aid isn't a pro-ball career."

Mike laughed, "Neither is what you do, I imagine. I doubt you even get thanked, but consider this a loan; pay me when you can." He smiled kindly.

"I don't know when I can repay you, if ever," still arguing, but inwardly accepting the money.

"Don't worry about it, the interest is a killer." He stuck out his hand and Dean took it. "It was a pleasure, and interesting working with you. I think you guys are the most lively clients I have ever had!"

"Yeah, we Winchesters are not your average, well…anything!" he said with a chuckle. "I don't know how I will ever repay you, for everything you've done…especially for my little bastard brother." They both laughed.

"Just beat the shit out of your brother for me!"

"Will do!" He said as he left, heading for New York City.

* * *

Sam walked into his new apartment and shook his head. Why did he expect it to be any better than the car? He threw his bag on the floor by the door and slammed it shut. It creaked back open. He turned around, annoyed, and closed it again. It creaked back open. Pissed, he cursed out loud and locked it…it opened again.

"Stupid son of bitch!" He didn't care if anyone heard him. He pressed his body against the door and locked it. He watched it warily for a moment, then turned around noticing the beautiful woman on his bed. He smiled and walked over to her.

"You must be Kathleen." She smiled and nodded her head. Sam looked her up and down; she was wearing a long dusty rose silk robe. "I don't know what you think, but, this isn't my style." He made as if to turn around to inspect the kitchen when she spoke.

"Oh come on, I'm your present!"

He scoffed at the idea of a woman being a present; he turned to face her.

"I don't treat women like they are objects. You're not a present." She didn't care what he said; she thought he was attractive and undid her robe. Underneath was a matching dusty rose chemise.

He looked at her beautiful body; part of him wanted to be with her, part of him wanted to run…what about Jess? It would be a disgrace to her memory to sleep with a woman he just met less than five minutes ago. But, on the other hand, just like the cop, he wanted to do this more than anything…it felt right. That voice inside of him was small, but it was getting louder; he felt like he was fighting with himself.

He went to her, lay on top of her and put his hand on her hip. She removed his jacket. Their lips where close…close enough to kiss, but not touching. He wanted so badly to kiss her, but he stopped. "I can't…I have, had a girlfriend. I think you should leave." He got-up and went to the kitchen.

She undressed as he watched; but, when he didn't go back to her, she put her dress on and left her lingerie on his bed. "A present and this is your client list. Luke explained everything to you right?" He nodded. "Be at these places at the exact date and time; Luke doesn't like tardiness or mistakes, so don't screw-up." She warned him, and left.

Sam walked over to the night table and picked-up the list. He took a quick glance…his first "client" would be tomorrow.

* * *

"John, I'm so sorry! This is a terrible situation for any parent to go through. I understand…I have children." The man with the red eyes behind him cooed, his hand on John's shoulder, whispering lies into his ear.

"I'm so sorry for your loss." John broke down, looking at his "dead" son in the morgue. "For your son to kill his own brother; it's just sickening! Drugs, booze, women, Sam saw the warning signs, but Dean wouldn't listen. He killed your little boy." The snake continued to whisper into John's ear; his plan was almost complete.

"I don't believe it, Dean would never do crack…kill his own brother; he would rather die than let anything bad happen to Sammy!" John reasoned, becoming free from the manipulation.

"No, John you never saw the signs; they were right in front of you, but you chose to ignore them. You failed as a father and now you have to end it…" He leaned closer, whispering directly into John's ear. John could feel the hot breath blowing into his ear as the man spoke. "You have to kill Dean, then kill yourself, because you are a failure."

"I am a failure…" John echoed the words in agony. "I have to save Dean, save him from himself, and then kill myself." Tears ran freely down his face as he openly wept for his 'lost' son.

* * *

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3 The Real Sam Winchester

**Chapter 3--The Real Sam Winchester**

John Winchester knew he'd made mistakes; he'd made a lot with his boys, giving Dean too much responsibility, fighting with Sam and kicking him out just for wanting to go to school. He never imagined his mistakes were this bad, or that he had been such a failure of a father that this is how his son's life would end. The tears flowed down freely as he watched the coffin being lowered into the ground, as they covered his son with dirt. What would happen to him in the next life? He wasn't a religious man, but he hoped that his son would find peace.

He heard Pastor Jim speak to him, knew he said something, but it was meaningless. Everything was meaningless, except one thing…that he failed both his boys, and he had to make it right. He stood up kissed Sam's headstone, then walked to Mary's grave.

"You would be proud of how Sam turned out; Mary. I just wish I hadn't failed them both so miserably! But, don't worry; I'll take care of everything. I love you." He bent down and kissed her headstone. He had a plan…he knew how to get Dean to come to him and he would make it as quick as possible.

* * *

Sam walked down the hallway of the upscale condos scanning the numbers on the doors until he got to PH5. Ringing the doorbell, he thought how strange it was that Luke lived in a penthouse. A man in a butler's uniform answered the door and allowed him inside. His eyes scanned the plush condo, still trying to take in the strangeness of a supernatural being living like he was human. 

"Welcome to my humble abode." Luke said with a smile as he came down the stairs.

Sam raised an eyebrow, "Humble…?" He shook his head, "This isn't exactly what I would call humble."

Luke smiled as he walked towards Sam, a young man not too far behind him. "I have to go, see you later." The young man said to Luke, then they kissed. Sam watched the young man leave then gave Luke a surprised look.

Luke laughed "Your wondering about that…" Sam nodded. "You see humans have vices, sex, drugs, booze, gambling, and to some extent food. I…give them a little taste of what they desire. After a while their desires become so strong, so intense they will do anything to have more…give anything to have more. And the more human I appear, more likely they are to trust me," He smiled then walked to the table behind Sam.

"Come, sit, we have a lot to talk about." Sam turned around and sat at the table as the butler served them both some food.

"What do we have to talk about?" Sam knew Luke knew about the cop.

"Maybe we should talk about the manhunt for you. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I don't know…" Sam answered quietly.

"I don't mind if you want to attack or kill someone, but do it discreetly. I won't bail you out every time, I made it look like an ex-con did it; you won't have to worry about it."

"What did you do to me?"

Sam swallowed hard. He had been feeling different since he first met Luke in the prison. Part of him didn't want to know the answer, but he needed to. The pleasure he felt from hurting people was becoming overwhelming followed shortly by a huge wave of guilt. He felt the guilt lessen after he beat up the cop compared to when he drugged Dean, but he still felt sickened with himself.

"What I did to you…I think it's more what you did to yourself. You have no one to blame for your current situation but yourself. But, let's not dwell on it. How was Kathleen? She is a great fuck isn't she?" He said with a huge smile.

"I don't know…I told her to leave." Sam answered, still trying to wrap his mind around how different Luke was from every supernatural being he had encountered.

"Why did you tell her to leave? You have to let go of your old life and how you use to do things. You are not the good guy anymore. She was gorgeous and we do not hold back; if we want something we take it. Call her and give her a few rounds," He said with a smirk. He knew Sam was fighting a loosing battle with himself, and the more he pushed Sam, the easier it would be to control him.

Sam stayed quiet. He wanted to call Kathleen, but whenever he thought of her his mind would always bring him back to Jessica. When she first died everything reminded him of her. Over the past year it had become easier, but the past few days he was always thinking of her. He was ashamed of what he was becoming and he knew she wouldn't like what he was becoming…what he would do for Luke.

"We have to talk about your brother; he was in New York following a false lead."

"Was? Where is he now?"

"He's in Lawrence, with your father." He smiled at Sam's reaction, enjoying the look of pain on the young man's face.

"Your father thinks you're dead," He laughed. "It was easy manipulating him. I almost got your brother too, but he slipped away at the last minute. John thinks Dean is on drugs and he killed you. I convinced him that the only way to save Dean was for him to kill Dean."

An evil grin spread across his face "Then, once Dean is dead, John will kill himself." He leaned in closer, "I don't want any interference from you. You have to promise me you will not warn them."

"I won't." But secretly he knew he had to warn his brother of the impending danger…the only problem was how he was going to warn Dean without Luke knowing.

"Today is your first day. I do not like mistakes, so I will come with you to your first client," He said very seriously. "One mistake and I will collect on our original deal." He said looking Sam in the eyes, making it more than clear he wouldn't tolerate any mistakes.

* * *

**Claire Anderson, 1:30 pm Sam's first client**

Claire Anderson, a thirty-five-year-old artist who became a huge sensation over night ten years ago, sat in her studio painting, as she always did at this time. She turned as a young man came in to admire her work. She noticed how attractive he was, not noticing the other man who came in after him. A small smile came across her face. She hoped he would buy something, maybe recommend some of her work to his friends; maybe if she was lucky they would get to know each other. He wondered around, admiring her work, but what she didn't know was he was really staking the place out.

She put her paint brush down and walked towards the young man, still unaware of the other man. "You like the painting." She said cheerfully.

He turned around and smiled "Yeah, this is a great abstract piece, the use of color, line and shape is unique and creative. This piece…it speaks to me; it shows pain and sorrow, but at the same time you show hope. I must admit it's beautiful!"

She found herself lost in his words; he knew what he was talking about. His voice was strong, but gentle at the same time. She moved closer wanting to know more about this man, what he thought of art, about life, what he saw in her other paintings, but mostly she wanted to know what he thought of her.

"Thank you." She finally managed to speak, she had never felt tongue-tied before, but he had a hold on her and he'd only been there for a few minutes.

"Are you interested in buying?" She said with a flirtatious smile.

"Very interested," he said still acting the part, not giving away that he was there to collect on her deal.

* * *

The ringing of the cell rang through his mind, burrowing deep inside and into his dreams. He could hear it, became aware of its annoying presence. As he became more aware of this world and less of his dream world, he became more aware of the annoying and never ending nuisance and the meaning of the noise that begged his attention. 

"Sammy…!" He shouted into the phone once he had answered it.

There was silence from the other end…then came a voice, "Dean, it's me," His father's gruff voice came, strength and determination in his voice, not revealing the true meaning of the phone call.

"Dad, we need to talk about Sam…" he started. Dean knew he was in trouble, knew his father would go ballistic on his sorry ass for losing his little brother.

"I know about Sam," John interrupted his son's words. Dean could feel his whole body stiffen and a cold chill ran down his back as he heard his father's voice.

"Dad I can explain…" Could he? Could he really explain how he lost his little brother? The one with freaky supernatural powers, and a demon who's been after him since he was six months old. How the hell was he going to explain some supernatural being has his brother…and that he had no idea where he is.

"I need you to come to your mother's grave." His father's request shook him; he sat there in a stupor. Why would his father want him to go to her grave?

"What…?" Now Dean's voice was barely a whisper. How could he go to his mother's grave; how could his father ask this of him?

"Just do it Dean! Be here at 4:30 today. I've already booked a flight for you…use your real name at JFK"

"But, dad…"

"Just do it!" John snapped, barely able to keep his composure during the conversation. His sons were lost to him and it took everything he had inside of him to keep himself together for this long. He hung up.

Dean sat there staring at his phone for a moment or two, wondering what his father knew and why he insisted they meet at his mother's grave. But, he was Dean Winchester and he never questioned his father; he was the good little soldier and he always did as he was told.

At least, that's what he told himself as he sat down on the cushioned chair at JFK, that's what he told himself as he checked in, and he kept saying it as he sat at his seat, buckled up, and the plane took off. He hummed Metallica with his eyes closed as the man beside him eyed him with a strange look.

"What…?" He yelled at the man when he opened his eyes.

_Everything will be okay…the plane won't crash…the plane won't crash…dad needs me, I need to explain things…the plane won't crash…Oh my god what was that…oh no the plane's going to crash!_

"Excuse me, what was that?" Dean asked the polite stewardess.

"It's just some turbulence; are you a nervous flyer sir?" She asked as she put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He gave her a nervous smile, "Yeah…a little, the last plane I was on almost crashed." He turned his head to the man beside him, who now was feeling a little nervous.

"Don't worry, we'll be landing soon." She gave him a warm smile.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally landed and Dean let out a sigh of relief. He thought to himself that he would kill his father for putting him on a plane.

* * *

Claire and Sam sat together for an hour, drinking coffee and talking. He felt a bit guilty that he had spent so much time getting to know her…he knew her fate. He took a quick glance over at Luke; he seemed impatient…it was time to collect. 

He didn't want to harm her, but he knew she'd made her deal, most likely a deal about her art. It was all she talked about and she'd made her bed…now she had to lie in it. He offered to take the cups to the sink; he gently placed them in, and walked up behind her and roughly grabbed her.

He whispered something into her ear that made her blood go cold.

Dean looked down at his mother's grave and shook his head. His father knew he didn't want to be here, why would he ask Dean to meet him here? He didn't know why, but for some reason he looked at the grave beside his mother's. He looked at the name…Sam Winchester!

His heart lurched, "Oh my god…" He swallowed hard, "Who put this here?" He shouted, not hearing the footsteps behind him.

"I put it there." he heard his father's gruff, angry voice. Dean turned around just as John punched him, knocking his head against Sam's headstone.

John's head hung low; he couldn't look at Dean…Dean was no longer his son. He was someone else, a junky…a killer, he killed his own brother, John's son. He heard a soft moan. He didn't lift his head. There was a hissing sound and another moan.

"Dad…dad what are you doing?" Dean inquired as he bit back the pain and pulled on his restraints.

John shook his head, "Where did I go wrong with you, Dean?" He asked quietly, but it still echoed in the large mausoleum. John lifted his head, tears stinging his eyes. It was dark, but Dean could see the pain in his father's eyes; they were red from the tears he shed for his dead son.

"What do you mean? Dad, I'm sorry…I mean about Sam. I'm sorry…I can explain!" His father's disapproval stung deeply, stabbing him through his heart; all he'd ever wanted was his father's approval.

"You can explain?" John yelled as he walked towards Dean, his hands shaking with anger. Dean now saw the eight inch knife in his father's right hand. "How the hell can you explain what you did to your brother?" John bent down in front of his eldest son.

"Dad I'm sorry!" Dean whimpered

"You're sorry? You're sorry isn't enough, Dean!" John shook his head; tears fell down his face. "You are not a father! You will never understand the anguish of burying your own son, but…" John hid his face in his left hand for a moment to compose himself. He had to finish this…he had to save Dean!

"To have your eldest son kill him…you were suppose to protect him. You were…" John broke down. He couldn't take the pain of losing Sam. He'd wasted so much time with him, he should have stayed and watched over his boys.

"Dad…I didn't kill Sammy!" Dean choked out. He couldn't believe his own ears…he would never harm Sam.

John wiped his eyes with his sleeve and sniffed at his running nose. "I saw him, Dean. The police told me…they told me that witnesses…they saw you two fighting and you shot him in the chest." John took a deep breath, he couldn't lose it again.

"They said you left your brother on the street to bleed to death, that he died on the streets! They said you two had an argument about your drug use!" John screamed, waving the knife in the air as he recited every word Luke whispered into his ear.

"I'm not on drugs." Dean defended, shocked at the unfounded accusations being thrown at him.

"What do you have to say for yourself? What is your excuse?" John choked out, tightening his grip on the knife.

Dean looked at his father, stunned. He thought Dean killed Sam and left him on the streets to die…alone and afraid!

"Dad…Sammy's still alive; you don't understand…" A single tear fell down Dean's face. Seeing the pain, anguish, anger and disgust in his father's eyes was too much for him to take; the walls of Jericho came tumbling down.

John shook his head as he brought the knife to Dean's chest. Dean took a shaky breath as he felt the cold steel press against his bare skin.

John took a deep breath and said, "Do not worry, son. It'll be through the heart, quick and easy. It's the only way to save you from the drugs."

* * *

"I'm here to collect on your deal, Claire." Sam whispered into her ear as tears streamed down her face and onto his hand. 

She struggled, but he was strong. A man stepped in front of them and she hoped he would help her. He smiled and she knew who he was. She screamed.

"Take it, Sam," She heard him say with a smile. She struggled more and Luke laughed.

Sam wasn't exactly sure how he was supposed to do this. He knew what he was supposed to do…where he was going to send her. Then, as if it was second nature and he knew what to do all along, he placed his hand on her chest, feeling her heart pounding in her chest and in his hand.

A wave of extreme pain came over her; she screamed through the hand covering her mouth. Sam reached inside of her; she could feel him inside of her, his hand burned…stung. The pain started in her chest, but as he started to rip her soul from her body, the pain quickly spread throughout her body, and when he separated body and soul she went limp. He looked up at Luke who was smiling. Sam held her soul in his hands for a moment before he cast her soul into hell. He gently placed her body onto the floor, looking deeply into her dead eyes, knowing he killed her.

"Good work! Now you are a collector! Come, there are others for you to collect." Luke turned around to leave.

Sam ran to the sink and threw up…he was a killer now and there was no turning back.

Dean felt the cold steel tip digging into his chest. He couldn't speak…it was becoming more and more difficult to breath. He saw the tears in his father's eyes; it hurt so much to see him in such pain.

Dean knew he was going to die, but at his own father's hands? This wasn't how he'd pictured his death. He became so lost in his father's pain stricken face that it took him a moment to register that it had been replaced by Bobby's.

"Dean, you alright?" Bobby questioned as he untied the rope.

"What happened?" Dean searched the floor for his father; he found him unconscious on the floor near his feet.

"I came as fast as I could; I heard John yelling at you from outside. I came in and saw him trying to kill you…what the fuck is wrong with him!"

"He thinks I killed Sam! I didn't…Sam can't be dead…Sam isn't dead, is he?"

"No, Sam's fine. He called me and told me your daddy went postal." Bobby helped Dean up.

"Sam called you? What did he tell you?" Dean asked frantically.

"Let's take care of John first. I didn't hit him that hard." They turned to John, and using the rope that once restrained Dean, they tied him up.

"Alright, what did Sam say?" Dean inquired, crouching over his father.

"He said something happened to John and that John thought Sam was dead. He said it was second hand information; I tried to get him to tell me where he was or why he left, but…" He shook his head, remembering the conversation.

"He got all riled-up, started swearing, saying your blood was on my hands." John moaned and both their eyes fell upon the fallen hunter.

"Dad?" No response; John was still unconscious. "Did he tell you why he left?"

"No, but if he was my boy, man, I'd teach him a lesson Mohammad Ali style!"

Dean laughed "What the hell is going on with him?" Bobby knew Dean didn't know the answer, but he asked him anyway.

"I don't know, but I do know he's scared. This Luke Sullivan guy uses manipulation. That's why my dad thinks I killed Sam." Dean leaned back against the cold concrete wall of the mausoleum. He raked a hand through his hair then shook his head.

"I don't know what is going on. What I do know is this Luke Sullivan, whoever…or whatever he is, is powerful. So damn powerful that he's got Sam doing things he would never do…like that cop he attacked."

Bobby nodded. John moaned again and shifted. Dean bolted up, crouching over John again. "Dad, you okay?" he put a hand on his father's shoulder, turning him around, so they faced each other. Dean held his breath, waiting to see what his father would do or say.

"Dean…oh my god! I-I'm so sorry!" John cried frantically, remembering that he almost killed his own son.

"It's okay dad; it's not your fault. What do you remember?" Dean comforted as he reached down to untie his father. John rubbed at his wrists a little as he sat-up.

John sat there for a long while, going over what he remembered. "There was this man, he had red eyes. It was a demon; he made me think Sammy was dead, is he dead?" John searched Dean's face, fearing what the answer might be.

"No, dad he isn't, and we need to talk…about the man with the red eyes, and Sam." Dean paused and sat beside the elder man. "Sam's gone, and he's in deep shit!"

* * *

Sam slowly walked to his door; the last place he wanted to be was here. He went to open his door with his key, but it creaked open with the slightest touch. Sam sighed loudly; this was one of the worst days of his life! Why did he make this deal with Luke? He walked in and slammed the door closed and it creaked open again. He let out his frustration on the door, slamming it shut at no avail…it was a stubborn son of bitch! 

He turned around and went to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he went over the scraps of food he had, picking out some macaroni salad and soda. He closed the door and opened the cupboard door to find a small family of cockroaches living there. He stumbled backwards, dropping the food and soda on the floor.

"Like the rat in the toilet and junkies down the hall aren't bad enough!" He yelled at no one in particular, then slammed the door. Sam walked to the bathroom and looked at the man staring back at him.

"Who the hell are you? What the hell have you done with the real Sam Winchester?" He looked into his eyes, his features; he looked the same, they were the same hazel eyes, but the kindness that lay behind them was disappearing. He could feel himself changing, his hands started to shake, the walls began to close in on him, and he gasped as the image in the mirror smiled at him.

"_I'm Sam Winchester…the real Sam Winchester_." His image replied.

Sam fell backwards, stunned that his mirror image spoke to him. He hit his back sharply against the wall, but he hardly took notice as he stumbled out of the bathroom and out of his apartment.

Once outside of the building, Sam took a moment to catch his breath. Hunched over, he felt like screaming, punching someone, he felt the urge to kill overwhelming him. As if killing was becoming a drug and he was experiencing withdrawal symptoms.

"Are you okay?" A female voice asked him. He looked up and saw that she was wearing a very tight, short dress. He looked her up and down and she noticed that he liked what he saw "Its fifty dollars, seventy-five if you want more."

Luke's words went through his mind.

_If we want something, we take it._

He smiled and nodded.

A few minutes later they were in a back alley, kissing. He pulled up her dress and she moaned in pleasure; he pulled at her top, kissing her breast. She pulled at his belt, trying to undo it. He backed away.

"I can't, I can't!" he turned around to leave.

"Hey, you still owe me money!" She shouted at him, not really expecting him to pay. To her surprise, he took out his wallet and handed her fifty dollars; she took it.

Sam found himself wondering the streets. He didn't' know how it happened, but he found himself in the same place. He rang the door bell and walked in when the door was opened.

"I have nowhere else to go." He said with his head down in defeat.

"It's okay Sam; my door is always open to you." Luke said smiling as he closed the door.

**TBC...**


	4. Chapter 4 Chasing Sam

**Lux Fati, I have decided to keep posting because you are waiting patiently for some real struggle, I hope this chapter is what you are looking for. But, next chapter will be the real struggle, it will be the beginning of Dean's troubles.**

**Chapter 4--Chasing Sam**

Dean stretched his leather jacket over his form crossing his arms over the top; he shivered. It amazed him how cold it had gotten so quickly, despite the fact it was November. He blew warm air into his cupped hands as a sea of multicolored leaves floated over the top of his head. He kept his head up as a gust of cold air blew into him. He took in all the different people who he passed as he walked…some preppies, Goths, immigrants speaking in their mother tongue, a few homeless people begging for money as he passed them by. He handed a woman with a small child three dollars, then he zipped his jacket up and crossed his arms over his chest once again.

He finally reached his destination and took a deep breath as he entered the 53rd precinct. He walked to the desk where a large man in his fifties sat stuffing his face with a Calzone. Normally, seeing the Calzone would make Dean's mouth water, but the way the man was downing it made him sick to his stomach.

He cleared his throat before speaking, "Um, I was hoping you could help me with something." The older man looked at the young man, dabbed his greasy sauce covered face with a napkin, took a sip of his pop and sat-up.

"Sure, how can I help you?" He said looking at the young man in front of him.

"My brother is missing and I have a lead that he might be here in New York. I was hoping you could help me…" Dean's voice trailed off as he looked around the room.

"He might be here in New York? Buddy, do you have any idea how big this place is?" The officer shook his head.

"I do know. I've been here for two fucking months…trust me I know!" Dean paused as he went into a coughing fit. Trying to bring his cough under control, he took a deep breath and continued, "I'm going crazy here. No one has any leads on him." Dean bit his lip. He had to control his temper…he couldn't lose it again; he needed the cops help whether he liked it or not. Besides, getting angry just made his cough worse and that didn't help anything.

"Hold on, I'll get a detective for you," the officer said, giving Dean a weary look.

* * *

Dean had been sitting there for an hour and a half when a detective who was laughing with another one came in. "Hey, you the one with the missing brother?" He said with his hands on his hips.

"Yeah, I am." Dean quickly got-up, and walked to the detective, who motioned for the younger man to follow him.

"Okay, name?" Detective Santiago asked as he sat in front of the computer ready to type.

Dean swallowed. He knew what the reaction would be when he said Sam Winchester…it would be the exact same as every other cop he went to for help.

"Sam Winchester." Detective Santiago gave him a hard look; the young hunter knew if this guy wasn't a cop, he would rip Dean's head off just for being here.

"Look, I know what you're thinking, but he didn't do it…some other guy confessed. Please just do the search." Man he hated being so nice to cops, he hated pleading with them, he hated coming here and telling them his real name, but most of all he hated that he had to rely on them. Biting his tongue to keep the smart ass remarks and the million and one cop jokes that went through his head every time they reached for a donut at bay, Dean waited patiently.

Detective Santiago looked the young man over. He could see that he was tired, his skin was pale and clammy, looked like he just got over something, or maybe he was just tired from trying to find his brother. He turned back to his computer and began the search.

"This could take a while, you want a coffee?" Dean nodded and the man got-up and walked to the coffee machine, poured two cups and returned, putting one in Dean's outstretched hand.

Dean drank the hot, steamy substance, taking in the heat radiating from rim, allowing the steam to gently press against his upper lip. It felt good to have a good cup of joe, tasting the bitterness seeping into his mouth and flowing down his throat. It comforted him, reminding him of good times with Sam. They had gone to so many different coffee shops, diners, and roadside gas stations, having so many types of coffees. Most of them sucked a hard one, but a few were pretty good to his surprise. He smiled at the memories.

"My brother and I were on a road trip and we were having lots of fun. I don't know why he left." He started without realizing it; he needed to talk about Sam, his little brother, the one he was always suppose to watch over and protect.

"I think he might be in trouble."

"What kind of trouble do you think he's in?" Detective Santiago inquired, his pen hovering over his notepad.

Dean shook his head and pursed his lips "I have no idea, but usually I wouldn't have any trouble finding him…" He took another sip of the black liquid, taking in the aroma.

"I always know where to find him. He left everything, his jacket, shoes, cell…he just left."

"You think foul play was involved?" Detective Santiago pressed further.

"No, he, um…he drugged me. Then he just left. I don't know…." Dean trailed off.

"It can be hard when a loved one disappears, especially when you don't know why." Detective Santiago said than the computer chimed.

"Sorry, buddy…no reports, and no arrests." Dean thanked the detective and got-up and left.

* * *

Dean sat in his car and banged the steering wheel with his open hand…and it hurt and felt good at the same time, to finally let-out his frustration. Banging his hand repeatedly against the hard plastic of the steering wheel cover, Dean started to feel breathless, gasped for air and went into a coughing fit. He reached for a bottle of water that was sitting in the passenger's seat. Twisting the cap off and downing the cool liquid, his cough finally eased.

The young hunter replaced the bottle on the seat, and leaned his head back against the leather head rest. He took a deep breath in and scrubbed a hand up and down his face. Where was Sam? And what did Luke do to him? What would he do to him? If they didn't find him soon they may never find him. A small coughing fit started again as he started the car and drove away.

Dean walked into the apartment he rented with his father and looked down at the lamp that sat on the small end table. He quickly grabbed it and flung it across the room. It slammed into the wall, crashing, shattering into small pieces, the light bulb popping as it shattered. The action irritated his lungs and he went into another coughing fit, but this time he had trouble catching his breath. He began to gasp for air, clutching his chest in an effort to breathe again.

John came into the small living room, drying his hands on a small towel. He saw Dean struggling to breathe and dropped the towel on the floor and ran to his son, putting his strong hands on Dean's shoulders. Dean had been very sick and John couldn't help but worry over his oldest.

"Dean take it easy…please, son." His father's words where strong and gentle. Dean could see the worry on his face…he'd seen it there for the past few weeks. It wasn't that he didn't want his father's concern, in fact it was nice that his father took care of him instead of the other way around. But, he was getting tired of his father treating him like he was china doll and would break at the slightest movement.

"Dad, I'm fine…" Dean breathed.

"No, you're not." John ushered his eldest son to the nearby sofa and gruffly sat him down. He sat beside him making it clear that Dean was not to move.

"You heard what the doctor said, you have Bronchitis and it will take some time for you to get over it. You need to take it easy. Are you using your inhaler?"

"The inhaler ran out and there's no money for another one…and I am taking it easy!" Dean snapped.

"No, you're not" John yelled back. "You're pushing yourself, again. We will find him, Dean; you just need to be patient. New York is a big city…"

"No…_NO!"_ Dean backed away from his father, "We've been here for two months and we haven't found one clue, nothing dad. How many hunters do we have looking for him….? I'm…" Dean trailed off not wanting to admit he was starting to loose hope.

John could see this was taking a heavy toll on Dean, and he was beginning to loose hope. He had no words to console Dean.

* * *

_Sam walked down the familiar path, in the too familiar church. He held the small knife in his right hand, blood soaked both his arms and the lower part of his white t-shirt. He could hear someone struggling for air...he looked down and saw Pastor Jim lying on the floor, covered in blood, struggling for air, but within a few short moments he was dead._

_Sam stepped over him and moved to a man tied to a chair. He bent down, grabbed the man's hair back and put the knife to the man's throat._

_Sam smiled "How the mighty fall!" He laughed "A fitting end to a great hunter, don't you think, dad?" John held his breath as he looked at his son…he was a monster; there was no saving him now._

_Sam gripped the knife tighter then drove the knife deep into John's throat. The elder man gasped, gurgled, his eyes glassed over as the last thing he saw was his own son._

_Sam ripped the knife out of John's throat and walked to the second man restrained in a chair next to John._

"_No! This…this isn't how it's supposed to end." The man cried._

_Sam laughed "How is it supposed to end?"_

"_I'm suppose to save you, Sammy…I'm supposed to save your soul," Dean answered, his eyes pleading with his baby brother not to kill him._

_Sam laughed again "I have no soul for you to save."

* * *

_

Sam jolted-up, heaving, sweating from his nightmare, his hand gripped in a fist. He opened his fist and saw the old picture he'd found in his father's motel room over a year ago. He fell back down onto the bed, scrubbing a hand over his face. That damn nightmare had started months ago. At first it came once in a while, but now it was every night. He never killed Dean in the dream, but lately he was getting closer and closer to killing him.

"Damn it Dean…just stay away!" he said out loud.

"Huh!" He turned to see Kathleen in his kitchen eating his pudding. She walked to his bed and straddled him.

"What are you doing here? How did you get in and why are you eating my pudding?" He said exasperated.

"We're going to New York. You live in a shitty apartment and a simpleton could get in here. And you're a pudding whore. You never let me have any, so I took some." She put a spoonful into her mouth, "MMMMMM!!!" she taunted.

"Well, at least that's the only thing I'm whoring around with, unlike some people I know," She gasped at his insult and punched him in the shoulder.

He laughed and put his hands on her butt. "Hey, no freebies after you just insulted me like that!" She took his hands off of her.

He moaned and checked the time, it was quarter to six. "Can you do me a favor? I want to…cut my hair. Can you do it for me?" He bit his lower lip, part of him didn't want to do it; part of him couldn't wait to rid himself of his hair. It reminded him of his dad; they had butted heads over his hair so many times, and it was one of the battles he'd actually won. After a while his father got use to it, and liked it.

"Only if I get to keep the pudding." He rolled his eyes, then nodded.

Sam sat in the chair and took a deep breath as Kathleen brought the electric razor to his head.

"Are you sure? I think you look cute like this," she asked before she even attempted to start.

"Yeah, just do it before I change my mind." She came close to him and he put his hands around her waist, concentrating on her form as she shaved off his hair. Once she was done, he ran a hand over his now smooth head.

He took a deep breath in and slowly expelled it. "Thanks!"

"Why don't you look in the mirror" She suggested.

"No!...You know I don't like…" He trailed off.

"Okay, let's go!" She smiled as he got-up. Luke's plan was coming together nicely.

* * *

"Okay…right…call me as soon as you hear something…thanks a lot, Caleb." Dean closed the cell, and started to pace, biting his nails.

"Dean, you need to take a break." Dean stopped pacing and stared at his dad.

"I can take a break when we find Sam," He started to pace again.

"Dean…"

"I took a break for three weeks!" Dean snapped. He'd been snapping a lot at John lately. The stress of looking for Sam was definitely getting to him.

"That wasn't a break; that was you being sick! Just for one night, son?" Dean let out a loud sigh, then nodded his head in defeat.

The two men walked into the restaurant and a waft of BBQ steak hit them. They both took in the aroma at the same time. They stood there, their mouths watering, waiting patiently for the hostess to take them to their seats.

The restaurant was dimly lit, full with patrons. Dean and John sat at their booth and mulled over the menu. Dean went into a coughing fit again. He drank some of his water and, looking-up at John, he shook his head.

"Don't worry about it Dad, the doc said the cough would linger…I feel fine!" he said with a forced smile.

John smiled sadly as he nodded his head.

Dean looked around the restaurant, taking note of a group of beautiful women sitting in another booth. One of them noticed him and smiled…he smiled back. His eyes then went to the bar and saw something he never thought he would see. He stared at him for a moment, those eyes it _was_ him…and he was bald!

"Sam!" The two brothers bolted up at the same time, but a waiter came crossed in front of Dean and they collided. An array of dishes and food fell on the floor; Dean slipped on the soup, but quickly recovered.

"Which way did he go?" John yelled.

"I don't know! You take the back, I'll take the front." They quickly separated.

Dean bolted for the exit, pushing past the people outside, scanning the streets for his bald Sasquatch of a brother. He heard the sound of tires screeching as a Mustang turned the corner and shot past him. John followed suit in his truck, stopping in front of Dean.

"That was him!" John yelled. Dean bolted to the passenger's side and got in as John sped-off after Sam.

Sam drove down the road, changing lanes quickly, cutting people off. John followed his every move, weaving in and out between the many cars on the road. Sam made a quick right-turn, going over the curb and almost running over a pedestrian.

John made the turn, quickly realizing Sam was heading for the freeway. Sam sped-up even more as he entered the freeway. Sam quickly changed lanes, almost causing a crash. John stayed in his own lane, staying close to Sam.

"Are you sure that's him? He was driving a rabbit a few months ago."

"I saw him get into the car," John said as he tried to keep up with his youngest.

"Damn, Sammy's been pimped!" Dean muttered as John weaved in and out of the lanes, avoiding hitting the other cars.

"Write down his license plate number!" John shouted at Dean; Dean quickly wrote it down.

Sam changed lanes again. John accelerated, now neck and neck with Sam, the woman with him rolled down the window.

"Nice night for a drive, eh?" Sam shouted through the window and laughed. The woman beside him gave John the middle finger. He accelerated again making his way through the two semis that were in front of him.

"Stupid bitch!" John shouted. He turned to the right, driving on the shoulder, and passing the semis and Sam, he quickly got back onto the road. Now Sam was chasing them!

"Uh, dad, we're supposed to be chasing them." Dean reminded him. John changed lanes to the left and Sam passed them. John changed lanes again; now he was behind Sam. The woman who was in the passenger seat climbed out of the window, holding a .45. She aimed and fired at the two men.

The two Winchester men ducked just in time, knocking heads in the process. Both cursed and rubbed their heads. Dean glared at the windshield, a bullet hole directly in front of his head.

She aimed again; Sam swerved, causing her to lose her balance as she pulled the trigger again, narrowly missing the front tire. She retreated into the car, then came-up through the sunroof, again pointing the gun at them. Dean reached for his gun in the back of his jeans and climbed half-way out of the window, aiming for the woman. She blew him a kiss and he shot her. She jerked back and retreated back into the car.

Sam weaved in and out of the lanes, cutting off an SUV that had to swerve to the left causing two other cars to crash into it. John jerked the truck to the left, causing the truck to narrowly miss the median. John quickly recovered and was back behind Sam. Sam took an exit at the last minute; a car right behind him slammed on their brakes, swerving to the right, John slammed on the brakes merely inches from the car. They sat there for a second, trying to catch their breath. Then John put the car into reverse, backed up, then put the gear back into drive and quickly found an exit, just as the cops arrived.

* * *

Kathleen walked out of Sam's washroom nursing her right shoulder.

"All better!" She announced. Sam ignored her. "As good as new!"

Sam turned his head and charged her; grabbing her by the shoulder, he thrust her against the wall. Holding her firmly, he moved closer making it more than evident how angry he was.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You could have killed them!" he spat with disgust.

"Oh, that would have been tragic." She replied sarcastically.

Still holding her by the shoulder, he brought her closer then slammed her forcefully into the wall. "They are my family!" he yelled.

"Don't act like you didn't want them dead; with the way you were driving, you could have killed them yourself," knowing this was killing Sam, she took a lot of pleasure in saying it.

Sam stood there for a moment; she was right, he clenched her shoulders tighter. "I was trying to get rid of them, not kill them!" Sam finally yelled back.

"Sure, I believe you," she laughed, which angered Sam even more. He struck her, knocking her head back. Touching her hand to her lip, feeling the blood against her delicate fingers, she slipped them into her mouth to retrieve the razor she always kept there. In one swipe, she cut Sam's right cheek.

"Bitch!" he screamed. He came at her, but she saw him coming and kneed him. He let-out a soft-groan in pain. "Son of a bitch!" he cursed under his breath.

Then she punched him and he fell to the floor. "You should know better than to attack a fellow collector, even if she is a girl!" She walked to him and attempted to kick him, but he caught her foot mid-air, swiping at her other leg and causing her to fall to the floor, quickly went on top of her.

"You should know better than to attack a collector who use to be a hunter." He growled as he slipped out his gun, pressing it firmly against her forehead. "I'm going to make you pay for almost killing them."

He cocked the hammer, smiled, and pulled the trigger. Her blood and brain matter splattered all over Sam, the upper half of her head blown off, and blood began to pool around her, seeping into the cracks and crevices of the floor.

Sam quickly got up and grabbed his blanket and placed it beside her. He picked her up and, roughly dropping her onto the blanket, wrapped her in it. Sam than carried her out of his apartment, keeping a look out for anyone who might be around, he opened the garbage chute and threw her in.

Sam then went back to his apartment and cleaned up. Standing in front of the mirror, he could see only one eye, and part of his mouth over the duct tape he'd put there earlier. Staring at himself, he was amazed how easy it had been to kill Kathleen, to stuff her down a garbage chute like he was throwing out garbage. He stared his image down intently.

"You're not me!" He yelled at it.

_His image laughed at him, "I am you; good job killing Kathleen, but it would have been nice if we had slept with her first." his image said with an evil smile._

"I don't sleep with skanks!" Sam spat back.

"_No, you just sleep with prostitutes…right!" his image taunted._

"I never slept with her; I love Jessica…I love Jessica!" he defended.

"_Sure you do. just keep reminding yourself of that." His smile grew "Why don't you find that pretty little number you never slept with and really give it to her." _

Sam didn't want to go downstairs. He was starting to put two and two together; the more evil he did the less guilt he felt, the less guilt he felt the easier it was to kill, the more evil he was becoming. Then it hit him, the familiar side effects of killing eased its way through, he started to feel guilty.

"_Come on; admit it, you liked pulling the trigger. Her brains got all over you," his image started to laugh._

"Shut-up! shut-up!" Sam shouted as he covered his ears.

"_I bet her blood tasted really good." _

Sam couldn't take it anymore and he smashed his fist into his mirror. He stumbled out of the bathroom and onto his bed; ignoring his bleeding and throbbing hand, he sat there unable to sleep or move. He was losing himself, he could feel it. The more he struggled, the more he tried to hold on to the person he was, the harder the person he was becoming pushed.

* * *

Dean leaned slightly against the front of the truck, listening to his father on the phone from the rear of the truck.

"So, do you have an address?" John asked. "Great, thanks so much! Alright, you too…'bye." John hung up and walked around the truck and took a deep breath.

"We have a lead. The car isn't Sam's; it belongs to a Kathleen Franks. She lives in Philadelphia so that's our next stop. Did you put the new plates on?" Dean nodded. "Good, you drive; they won't be looking for a young man driving a pick-up," John said as he tossed Dean the keys. They both got in and headed to Philadelphia.

* * *

**Now John and Dean are heading for Philly what will happen next???? Hint, Hint it won't be pretty for our boy Dean. Hit the button and review plz!!!**


	5. Chapter 5 White Rabbit

**So here is chapter 5, I am a bit nervous, a few Dean fans maybe a little unhappy with this, but remember it's not his fault it's a trap and he will be back with a vengence.**

**Chapter 5--White Rabbit**

John and Dean had been watching Kathleen's apartment for three days, but there were no comings or goings. They questioned her neighbors, but no one had seen her for a while. Dean was starting to become impatient, so they both went upstairs to apartment two sixteen and knocked gently on the door. When no one answered, Dean took out his lock pick kit and opened the door. As John surveyed the apartment, he saw there was a bed, neatly made, and a kitchen with rotten, moldy food inside the fridge. He took in every little bit; turning garbage cans upside down, he found a list with names, addresses, and times. There were at least four lists. He then went to the bed that had a night table and a lamp…nothing, he turned the bed upside down…nothing. He was starting to feel hopeless. He turned to call out to Dean when something on the ground caught his eye; he picked it up and stared at it in disbelief.

Kathleen had a photo of John with his boys, the one they took at a fishing trip out east. Their faces where scratched out, except for Sam's who had a heart around it.

"Dean, come see this." He called out.

"Dad, I think you should see this first," Dean called out from the bathroom; John pocketed the photo and went to the bathroom. "This is one crazy bitch!" Dean commented without any sarcasm in his voice as he pointed to the mirror almost completely covered with duct tape on it.

"Why the hell did she do that?" John mumbled and Dean shook his head. "Look at this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the picture.

"Jeez she is a crazy bitch." Dean said as he eyed the picture wearily "Did you find anything that might help us?" He pocketed the picture.

"Nothing, but a list of names and dates, some moldy food, and this. Let's go." They both left.

* * *

**Three days later**

Dean could feel every fiber in his body was sore and stiff. He rubbed gently at his left shoulder and moved his head from side to side trying his best to alleviate the stiffness. He sat back, stretching more, he took his cup of coffee and sipped it as he looked around. He noticed a young girl smiling at him; he smiled back than turned away…she was too young and he had work to do. His father would be here any minute with a new lead on Sam. Man he was anxious; he began to tap his fingers on the table. He gripped it; now was not the time to get nervous. He decided to keep checking out the beautiful women; as he scanned the small café, he was getting a lot of looks from the lovely ladies. Of course he was he thought to himself, who wouldn't want to be with him? He smiled at this thought.

Than he saw her; a beautiful, tall red head. She was wearing a tight tank top and a pair of jeans that just hugged every inch of her very curvaceous body. Her eyes where blue, like his mother's, with plump red lips to match. She was more than beautiful, she was magnificent! Dean found himself staring; he never stared! He looked, he watched, he gave them his patented charming smile, but this time it was the woman who had Dean Winchester weak in the knees and hoping she would come over and talk to him.

She smiled at him; he smiled back. She played with her hair as she licked her lips and leaned over, giving him a little peep show. He smiled even more, shifting, but not wanting to look desperate. She turned to her friend and giggled; then her friend whispered something to her and they giggled more. She walked to his table; he could feel some sweat on his forehead and he wiped it away before she noticed.

"Hi, I'm Taylor," she said as she stuck out her hand.

Dean smiled as he took her hand, "I'm Dean…um, would you like to join me?"

"Sure!" Taylor said cheerfully and sat down.

"How 'bout another coffee?" he said, his smile widening.

"That would be great, a cappuccino, please," Dean got up and quickly got her drink.

"So, Dean are you new here?"

"Yeah, I am…just moved here a week ago," he said, not wanting to give too much information to her.

"Hmm!! That's interesting…do you want to fuck?" she asked with a devilish smile. Dean thought it was a little too sinister…maybe he shouldn't. They where on a job, not just another job, they where looking for Sam and the evil son of a bitch that took him. She noticed his hesitation; she had to sweeten the pot. "My friend over there was just saying it would be great if we had a threesome…want in?" She leaned forward and put her hand on top of his.

Dean, at that moment, didn't know what came over him. He knew he should stay and wait, get the freaky girl's number and have some fun…later, but there was something about this girl, she radiated, lit-up the room and **she **suggested a threesome!

"Hell ya!" Dean answered in an overly excited tone.

"We live about two blocks away.

* * *

**Ten minutes later**

Taylor was pressed against the wall as Dean kissed her neck, working his way to her breast. He knew her friend Kim was in the other room getting into something more comfortable. She'd insisted they start and she would join them soon.

"You're so beautiful!" Dean mumbled as he pressed his lips against her milky white skin. He heard Kim come out; she came close to him, kissing him on the neck, gently, followed shortly by her tongue. The hairs on the back of his neck stood-up; he hardly registered the sting in the side of his neck, but he did feel the warm substance enter into his body. He entered into ecstasy at that moment, stumbling to the side holding his neck.

Why was he feeling so strange? He fell to the floor, Taylor, or maybe it was Kim? Climbed on top of him.

"How does it feel, Dean? It feels really good doesn't it?" She laughed and turned to the other girl, "You think we should give him another hit? I think he likes Heroin, so maybe he'd like more?" she laughed. Dean wanted to struggle, but his body was in euphoria and he didn't want it to stop…he wanted more. She bent over him and kissed him gently on the lips as she gave him another hit. He took a deep breath in and arched his back slightly as the drug entered his body. He closed his eyes; he swore he could feel the drug swimming in his veins and a smile came across his face.

She then sat up and addressed her friend, "I think Luke will be very pleased with us, don't you?" she asked with the same devilish smile as before and now Dean knew this was a trap.

* * *

Sam walked to the front door of Curtis Monroe; he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He'd just come from another "client's" house who had made it more than clear that he wouldn't go without a fight. Sam shook his head and opened his eyes; they knew who they where making the deal with and they knew what they were giving up. They had no problem giving-up their souls when they made the deal, but when it came time to collect their souls, they fought tooth and nail.

He rubbed his arm gently where the guy had stabbed him. He wished he could go to an ER and get some stitches, but he had to do this job first. Sam took another deep breath and rang the door bell. After a short while, a man in his late thirties came to the door.

"Yes, may I help you?" he inquired.

Sam took a deep breath and slowly let it out, "Are you Curtis Monroe?" The man nodded his head. "My name is Sam Ryan, and I'm here about your deal."

The color in Curtis's face drained, "Oh," was all he could say; he was frozen in place. Sam didn't know what to expect; Curtis seemed to be thinking about his next move. Sam moved his right arm to his back and wrapped his fingers around the gun he stole from the other "client".

"Come in," Curtis moved to the side to let Sam in. The younger man gave him a wary look; he wasn't sure if he should go in or not. He tightened his grip on the gun as he walked in.

"You can let go of your weapon…I'm not going to attack you," Sam relaxed his grip and brought his arm to his side.

"So, you're going to make this easy for me?" Sam asked, still waiting for this guy to attack him.

"Aren't you wondering what I made my deal for?" Curtis asked as he led Sam into the dinning room.

"I do…sometimes wonder, but it isn't my place to ask. I'm just here to collect on the deal." Curtis nodded and sat down.

"Come see this; it may change your mind…"

"It's not my decision; it's not my mind you have to change. Besides it's a little late, don't you think?" Sam said coldly. A chill went down Curtis's spine, but he was determined to change Sam's mind; maybe they could come to some agreement.

"Please, just see this," Curtis slid an envelope towards him; Sam sat down beside him, holding his left arm. "Somethin' wrong with your arm?"

"No, nothing," Sam said quietly.

"Okay, look at this. I've been a cop for the past sixteen years; ten years ago a girl gets murdered. A four year old girl in her own home; I knew who did it, but I couldn't prove it. You should have seen what that monster did to that poor girl! I saw the body, Sam, and I couldn't let him get away with…"

"What does this have to do with your deal?"

"That's what I made my deal for; to get this son of bitch. He deserved to rot in jail for the rest of his life." Sam nodded. Curtis studied his face; he was desperate to save his soul.

In the other room, James Monroe walked in through the back door. He heard his brother and another man talking; he peered through the door and listened.

"I'm nothing like the others…the others you have…taken care of. I've done nothing but good; I'm not evil, selfish, arrogant…or greedy…I just wanted to help this little girl, her family, you have…"

"It doesn't matter."

"Please, Sam, you have to reconsider."

"There is nothing for me to reconsider. What you did was great, but it's not my choice and I have to do this." Sam's tone was one of sympathy.

James watched them intently; wondering what his brother got himself into.

"You have a choice, please, Sam! I'm begging you, don't do this," tears now flowed freely down Curtis's face.

Sam stood-up, "I'm sorry…I have no choice." He felt for this man, but he had his orders. He put his hand on Curtis's chest. Curtis grabbed Sam's arm trying to remove the hand from his chest. He gasped as he fell to his knees in severe pain. James watched as his brother fell to the floor gasping, seizing. He froze in place as Sam ripped his brother's soul and threw him into hell and he swore he heard his brother scream.

Sam leaned over Curtis's body and mumbled an "I'm sorry," and walked out the door.

James found his strength at that moment and ran to his brother. He checked for a pulse and when he didn't find one, he ran to the window and quickly wrote down the license plate number. He promised his brother he would get revenge.

* * *

Sam walked into his apartment, a bit surprised to see Luke waiting for him; he looked angry.

"What took you so long?" Luke asked as he lit-up a cigar. Sam gently removed his coat.

"One of those clients you gave me didn't go down so easily." He pulled up his sleeve to show where large gauze was.

"Looks painful," Luke said with fake concern; he grabbed Sam's arm roughly and tore off the gauze…Sam screamed in pain.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did that hurt? How about this?" Luke screamed as he dug his nails into the large wound. Sam screamed again as Luke punched him in the arm and twisted it. "I told you to stay out of it…didn't I?" Luke screamed his face turning red with anger; Sam fell to his knees.

"I'm sorry!" Sam whimpered.

"You're sorry!" He pulled Sam up to his feet and into the kitchen; opening one of the drawers, he pulled out a serrated knife "Damn right you're sorry."

"No, please!" Sam begged, pulling his arm away. Luke pulled it back and started to rip his stitches out; Sam screamed louder and fell to his knees. Luke let go and Sam crumpled to the floor, holding his bleeding arm and breathing heavily through the pain.

Luke knelt down, "I know you killed Kathleen. Don't you ever touch one of my collectors ever again!" He grabbed Sam's arm again and, with the knife, pulled out two more stitches. Sam screamed, pulling his arm free.

Luke put the bloody knife down and, looking down at Sam, he said "You're becoming a liability. You have become a loose cannon and you've ruined my plans for Dean and John." He shook his head, "Why should I keep you around?"

"You'll let me go?" Sam questioned, holding his open wound closed as blood oozed through his fingers.

"No, Sam…we still have a deal…the original deal. I'm here to collect," he shook his head.

"Please don't! I won't interfere…I promise, I promise…please don't send me to hell." Sam begged, barely able to stay conscious.

Luke stood-up; he was quiet for a while, he seeming to consider his options. "I'll tell you what, I'll meet you half-way. You'll still go to hell, but I'll bring you back after five minutes…it will teach you a lesson"

Sam started to shake; his breath hitched, tears flowed down his face, he was scared…terrified. He'd done everything Luke asked of him to avoid going to hell, now he was heading there.

Luke put a gentle hand on Sam's face, wiping the tears away; he seemed almost remorseful. "Haven't I been good to you, Sam? The apartment is crap, but I gave you a car, food, money, women…what else could you ask for?"

"My freedom," Sam answered honestly.

Luke shook his head, "It's the only thing I can't give you." He grabbed Sam's face forcefully, his fingers digging into Sam's flesh. Sam gasped, his eyes rolled over and he fell to the floor.

* * *

Sam woke face down on the hot ground, small spikes dug into his face, palms, and chest. Despite the pain, he got up and looked around. He saw a group of people who were attached to poles; as he got closer, he saw two rows which seemed to go on forever. They were attached to the poles by vines with thorns that dug into their flesh; the vines tightened every so often. Sam wanted to run, but he knew no matter where he ran it would only get worse.

A pole behind him emerged from the ground; he turned around knowing it was meant for him, and ran. A force threw him against the pole and held him there. His arms were thrown above him as the vines wrapped around his arms and legs; they ripped, tore, and burned all at the same time. Sam struggled, but they became tighter.

A man, or what appeared to be a man wearing a black cloak that covered his face, walked through the row of people. He stopped in front of Sam and turned towards him; the man pointed a finger at Sam and a thin whip mark appeared across his chest, tearing deep within him.

Sam pulled at his restraints, but the vines dug into him deeper. The cloaked man moved his hand and every time it tore into his body, Sam screamed. The pain was nothing like he'd ever felt before.

The man lowered his hand and Sam quickly healed. He felt something pulling at him. As he felt himself leaving hell, he saw Curtis attached to one of the poles; the hooded man was now torturing him.

* * *

Sam quickly opened his eyes; he was back in the apartment. He ran to the bathroom and pulled at one of the broken pieces of mirror; he had to see if he still had the wounds. Luke saw what he was doing and ran to him, trying to stop him.

"Sam…Sam what the hell are you doing?" He screamed, pulling Sam away from the bathroom. Luke grabbed Sam's bleeding hands as Sam fell to the floor with a blank stare.

At that moment, Luke realized what he had done to Sam. He'd never seen anyone come back from hell and had become detached. He started to feel something he hadn't felt in a long time…guilt.

But, he couldn't let Sam see it. "Have you learned your lesson?"

"Yes…I won't…interfere…promise."

"Yes…what?" Luke didn't care if he heard it or not, but he needed to keep Sam in line.

"Yes, master!" Luke bandaged Sam's hands. He'd turned to leave when Sam spoke.

"Do…I have…are they…please help." Sam pleaded, pulling his shirt up a little.

Luke walked back to Sam and pulled up his shirt, seeing the massive scars on his body, he felt like hurling. Luke nodded his head, replaced Sam's shirt and left.

Sam lay there, unable to move or sleep; it had finally hit him, the full impact of making the deal…and it had cost him more than he ever imagined.

* * *

**So, Dean fell into Luke's trap and wonder what will happen next. Poor Sammy got sent to hell, any volunteers to help him heel LOL!!!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

John drove down the dark road, his eyes feeling heavy and opened the window. He had to stay awake, to stay alert, had to keep going. If he stopped, he would be reminded that he was alone. He had been separated from his boys before…too many times, but this was different. Sam he knew was in trouble; something evil had him and his behavior was erratic, but Dean…where was Dean? Dean being missing scared him more than Sam's predicament. John didn't know where his oldest was or what kind of trouble he was in. Dean almost made a deal with Luke…maybe he had made a deal? No! John wouldn't believe it…Dean wouldn't make a deal! He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, breathing heavily. He wanted to scream or cry, take a crow bar to Luke's face…anything but drive down this god-forsaken road on this god-forsaken night.

After a few hours, John finally saw the familiar sign. He drove through the gates and bringing the truck to a skidding halt, put the gearshift in park and ran to the door. He knocked on it frantically, feeling he had no time to waste. As Bobby finally came to the door, John barged in.

"Dean's gone, Dean's gone, I don't know where he is, or what happened….DEAN'S GONE!" John quickly shouted.

"Calm down…" Bobby said, a little overwhelmed by the normally unflappable John Winchester in front of him.

"CALM DOWN? CALM DOWN? NO!" John screamed.

Bobby punched John with a strong right hook and the frantic hunter stumbled backwards. "I said calm down!" Bobby shouted.

Shocked, and somewhat deflated, John put a hand to his jaw "I'm sorry…"

"It's okay, John. Just tell me what happened."

"I don't know…he just disappeared! We were suppose to meet at this café…I found Sam…I found out where he's living…I was going to go in myself," John paused, raking a shaky hand through his hair and sat down.

"But, I knew Dean would want me to wait. He's been sick…really sick. Everything has been taking a toll on him and I've been worried about him. I went there…I waited four hours for him, but he didn't show up. The Impala's gone, I found his cell in the garbage just outside the cafe, he's not using any of his credit cards…_nothing!_"

"Alright, let's take a breather…" Bobby said calmly.

"He has both my boys…" John said with tears in his eyes; his tone of voice broke Bobby's heart. "Sam…it was bad enough, but where is Dean? What did that bastard do to him?" The distraught father put his elbows on the table and rested his face in the palms of his hands.

Bobby put a hand on his friend's shoulder, "We'll find Dean, but you need to rest…you look like shit!" he said bluntly.

"I can't; I have to find Dean. I know where Sam is; I have Caleb watching him. We need to start looking for Dean right now." He said as he raised his head and got up.

"First, get some rest, then we'll find him."

"No! We have to start right away…we have no time to waste!" John said frantically.

"I know, but you're not much use to your boy like this! I'll get a search started, but you go upstairs and rest!" When John didn't comply, he added, "John Winchester go upstairs now! You don't want me pointin' my rifle at your sorry ass again do you?" They kept each other's gaze for a while before John relented.

Half-way up the stairs John turned around, "Bobby how did you…" He paused then shook his head, "Never mind"

"You're wondering how I survived loosing RJ. It's not the same thing, John; you can still save your boys, mine…" He stopped and smiled sadly, "My boy is gone, notin' gonna bring him back. We'll find Dean."

John sighed and nodded as he turned around and went upstairs to an extra bedroom, collapsed on the bed and fell asleep. Downstairs Bobby pulled out a picture of a twelve year old boy holding a baseball bat with a huge smile on his face. He smiled at the picture, kissed it, and put it away. He was more determined than ever to help John, no matter what.

* * *

Dean slowly opened his eyes. He squinted at the bright sunlight glaring through the windows, but closed his eyes quickly and groaned. "Hey, can one of you succubi close the drapes?"

Taylor got up and closed the drapes then turned around, removed her cigarette from her lips and walked to Dean. He glared at her; as she put her butt out on the back of his right hand, he hissed and pulled at his restraints that had kept him in the chair for…how long? He couldn't tell…the days blurred together…maybe a few days? Weeks? There were multiple burn marks on his hand…some healed, others were newer. The heroin was really messing with his mind.

She reached for one of the items on the table beside him; he shifted to pull away…he didn't want it. "No! I don't want it…please, no more!" he begged.

Taylor laughed, "Really, you don't want any?" she asked as she put the white powder into the spoon, and heated it with a pocket lighter. Dean watched as the white powder heated up…bubbles forming. This was his favorite part, it meant that it was ready. He'd been wrong…he did want it. She took a belt and tightened it just above the inside of his elbow and he started to breathe heavily in anticipation.

"Are you sure no more? I thought you liked getting stoned." she said with the same evil smile.

Dean quickly shook his head, "Okay, okay…I, I want it…please give it to me!" Dean begged, his breathing heavy. His body shook with the need for the drug. She filled the syringe with the heroin and injected it into his arm and his head lolled back. His body relaxed as the heroin coursed through his veins. His little piece of heaven, all he needed was a syringe, the belt…and the drugs! He went numb, no pain, no emotions, no one to take care of or worry about…just the drugs…the corners of his mouth curved up in a spacey grin.

Hours later, as the drug started to wear off, Dean became aware enough to ask for food, a blanket, and a bathroom break. Kim, the one he figured was the colder-hearted one of the evil double mint twins, began to abuse Dean. She started by kissing him and undoing his clothes. Dean protested and Taylor would stop her every time. It ended the same way every time, with Kim's abusive ways turned onto Taylor.

"Stop it, you stupid bitch! When I finally get free, I'm going to enjoy killing you," Dean growled after Kim's most vicious beating. This process always served to make Dean more alert and chase away most of the effects of the drug.

Taylor lay on the floor with several small, round, angry bruises from Kim's stiletto heel adorning her shoulders, chest and abdomen.

Kim turned towards Dean and walked toward him; she put a gentle hand on his face. He spat in her face and she angrily scratched him with her long nails from his left eye to his nose. She was getting ready to hit him again when there was a knock on the door. Kim went to the door, checked who it was, and smiled.

"I have what you asked for; I hope you're pleased with me," She said as Luke Sullivan walked in. He had a huge smile on his face as he took in Dean's current predicament.

He walked up to Dean who clenched his fists with anger. Luke opened his mouth to say something when he noticed Taylor on the floor, bruised and crying. He turned to Kim, enraged, "Did you do this?"

"She was out of line…" Kim defended, beginning to shake.

"She was out of line?" Luke yelled, quickly grabbing Kim's arm. "You don't get to decided who's out of line. What is it with you people? I never had this problem before." Luke pulled her closer, roughly causing her to let out a small scream.

"I'm sorry!" She cried.

"You're sorry? You're always sorry afterwards, aren't you? Just like Sam! Do you know what his punishment was? I'll do the same thing to you, you stupid bitch!" he smacked her.

"Sam?" Dean's heart lurched…Sam had been punished? What did that mean? "What do you mean, punished?" Dean yelled

Luke turned toward Dean. He'd forgotten the young hunter was there for a moment and realized his mistake.

"Don't worry, Sammy's still alive, but now he's in line; he won't be helping you anymore," he said coldly. He turned his attention back to Kim and began beating her mercilessly. When he was through, she lay there crying and begging for forgiveness; he put his hand on her face.

"No! Please…I'm sorr…" he dug his fingers into her face, ripping her soul from her body. A large black gate appeared; it opened up and Dean swore he could hear people screaming. Luke got up, holding her soul in his hand. He hesitated for a second, remembering Sam's experience, then let go as if he was releasing a balloon into the sky. Dean swore he heard Kim scream; the gates closed and disappeared.

Dean started to panic, _Oh god! Sam was punished…where was Sam? Oh god! Oh god!_

"What did you do to Sam?" Dean screamed at the top of his lungs, exacerbating his lungs, he started to cough which developed into dry heaves.

"Pathetic! I can't believe evil fears you," Luke said, disgusted. "Taylor, you okay sweety?" He asked as Taylor limped over to him. He put his arm around her waist and grabbed her butt. He started to kiss her on the cheek and Dean saw her cringe.

"Um…I don't like an audience," she finally found the courage to say.

"I don't like being an audience!" Dean said and shivered.

Luke walked to Dean, tilted his chair and dragged him into the bathroom and closed the door. Dean unfortunately could still hear what went on in the other room. He cringed and said "I can't believe I ever wanted to hit that." He cringed again.

* * *

Dean woke from sleep with a wet cough; he spat out some mucus and his stomach hurt with the strain of the effort. "Taylor…Taylor, come on I need water."

Taylor rolled out of bed, hitting the ground hard. She got up and fumbled with the light, both wincing at the brightness when she managed to get it turned on. "When are you going to stop coughing? Stupid little bastard!" She mumbled as she went to the kitchen and got Dean some water and he drank it.

"Thanks, you're so much better than Kim was," he shifted, trying to wake his body parts that had fallen asleep.

Taylor turned her head to where Kim had died, "Kim was a bitch! I…" She stopped herself before she finished her sentence.

"You what?" Dean inquired gently. Maybe he could get some information from her, maybe earn her trust.

"I'm nothing like her…I feel some remorse," she climbed back into bed.

"About what you're doing to me?" Dean asked, not really believing her.

She ignored him and shut off the light.

As soon as he was certain she was asleep again, he stretched his legs, bending them and trying to awaken the stiff muscles. It was the third night in a row that he sacrificed sleep for exercise and he could feel himself getting stronger. He was still very weak and stiff, but slowly and surely he was becoming stronger. He would get out of this hell, but first he had to be strong enough to get out. He held his breath in, his face red with the exertion, being sick, trapped here for what he figured was at least two weeks and the drug taking a toll on him. It hurt so much, and it took so much out of him, but he was determined to free himself, he didn't care what it took.

Ignoring the pain of being without the heroin for just a little too long, he pulled his legs up to his chest, twenty-eight…twenty-nine…thirty! He could only do ten a few days ago; he was getting stronger and soon he would have his freedom.

* * *

The next day, Dean watched as Taylor was putting on make-up, noting that she didn't use a mirror. He marveled at how beautiful she was, but didn't have any desire to sleep with her…not after what she did with Luke! He cringed inwardly, but she was gorgeous.

"Tell me something Taylor, how did you get involved with Luke Sullivan?" he inquired as he shifted a little, trying his best to keep his butt from falling asleep.

Taylor's face betrayed her fear as she put her make-up away and walked to her clothes, undressing in front of Dean. He couldn't help staring at her naked body. Once dressed in a pair of jeans and a tight sweater, she got a chair and sat down in front of Dean.

"He's my boss," she simply stated. She hadn't left the apartment in five weeks, not since Kim died, and she needed someone to talk to, even if it was her prisoner.

"Your boss, what does that mean?" he pushed further, and crinkling his face, she marveled at how handsome he was…she really wanted to sleep with him.

"Humans…have faults, we all have a desire to have something…" she began twisting her hair absently. "But, we can't all get what we want, so we take a short-cut." A tear formed in her eye and she looked away "But, those short-cuts have a price attached to them, a very large price."

This was what Dean needed to hear, Sam must have wanted something…but what? He was also gaining Taylor's trust. She dabbed her eyes not wanting to ruin her make-up.

"Did you make a deal?" he pressed her, wanting to know for sure that it was what happened with Sam.

She leaned forward, "How did you know?"

"Your 'boss' tried to get me to make a deal. Is that what Sam did, he made a deal?"

"Yeah, he did…but I don't know what he made his deal for."

"What did you have to give up? What do you do for Luke?" he pressed further. Taylor started to feel uncomfortable with his line of questions she shifted in her seat.

There was a knock at the door "Don't say a word!" she threatened.

She went to the door and saw another handsome man and she smiled. "Hi!" she chirped and she inwardly chastised herself for sounding so childlike.

"Hi! I'm here to take some of Kim's clients; my name is Sam." She quickly slammed the door on him and ran to Dean, covering his mouth.

"Don't you dare, you don't want you're little brother to find you like this do you? And if that isn't incentive for you, I'll kill Sam in front of you." She whispered her threat; he more than took her seriously. She turned to the dresser and pulled out a nylon stocking and wrapped it around Dean's mouth.

Sam knocked at the door again "Um, Taylor, what's going on? Can you open the door?" he called out through the closed door. She picked up a sheet of paper on the dresser and opened the door.

"Sorry about that, love; mentioning Kim's name makes me go all weird," she laughed, keeping the door closed and making sure Sam didn't see his brother.

"That's okay," he smiled, and she noticed his dimples. She bit her lip, they were so cute, she thought as she handed him the sheet of paper. "So…can I come in, I, uh…" He laughed and she got the hint.

"Oh!" She laughed and put a finger down his chest, feeling his muscular pecks, she bit her lip even harder. Dean felt like he was going to hurl! Did everyone get a turn on the Taylor ride? Must be the best ride at the amusement park; she had a lot of customers. He shook his head…his brother should know better! What the hell was he thinking? And since when does he have one night stands with strange woman?

Sam grabbed her and kissed her. She felt like she was going to melt…she was losing herself in him. His lips were soft and he kissed with such passion! She could feel his strong arms wrap around her waist, pulling her in closer then dragging her back into the apartment…and she stopped him.

"Oh! Wait!" she said, trying her best to catch her breath and pulling away from him.

"What? Come on I'm horny," he said as she shut the door.

She ran to Dean who was frantically trying to get free. She tilted his chair back and dragged him to the closet. Then she picked up the small table and placed it beside Dean, who was pulling as hard as he could against the ropes, ignoring the fact that they were ripping through his skin more. She frantically prepared the heroin and gave it to Dean so quickly that she forgot to put the belt around his arm. She then tidied herself up for Sam.

She quickly closed the closet door behind her and turned around to see Sam giving her a questioning look. She screamed and put her hand to her chest, "You scared me!"

"Sorry, but you were taking forever, what's in the closet?" he said, pointing to the door and leaning to one side trying to see what she was hiding.

"Nothing," she bit her lip hoping he wouldn't notice the lie. Taylor took Sam by the hand and led him to the bed. They kissed and she began to take his sweater off, but he stopped her. She gently put her hand on one side of his face, caressing his smooth skin, her lips grazing the other side of his face, then she put her other hand up his shirt, feeling the scares that littered his body.

"Luke hurt me," he choked out. He was so broken he didn't think anyone could bear to see his bare chest; he felt vulnerable and ashamed.

"I know," she said softly and removed his sweater, revealing his disfigured torso. She traced the deep thick scares with her hands, her fingers caressing him. He shivered at her touch and a single tear ran down his face. She saw his tear and wiped it away.

Sam lay down on her bed and he was finally able to trust someone, to show the part of him that was so broken, so torn apart. There was nothing left of him, not after what Luke Sullivan did to him. She followed him, lying next to him, feeling his pain and understanding it, because it was her pain as well, she was as broken as he was.

* * *

"Luke hurt me." Dean heard the words from the closet through his drug-induced haze. He fought the effects of the heroin to try and hear his brother's words even though they stabbed him in the heart. His brother was so lost, so broken, not even the heroin took the edge away. He felt his little brother's pain stricken words; he had to fix things, he had to fix his brother, he desperately pulled at his restraints.

He slammed his body against the chair, he screamed through his gag, he cried, he wanted to be free, he wanted to kill Luke Sullivan to make him pay for all the hurt and misery he evoked on his family; he would make that bastard pay one way or other.

* * *

After Sam and Taylor were done with their little interlude, she fell asleep contentedly, but Sam couldn't. His mind kept going to that stupid closet…he could have sworn he'd heard something. Taylor was definitely hiding something! Sam gently got off the bed, trying very hard not to waken Taylor, put his clothes on and opened the closet door. It was dark and he searched for a light with his hand and blinked at the brightness when the light came on. He stood there in shock when he saw his brother strapped to a chair and not looking very good. His eyes went to the small table and the contents, then to Dean's arm, his finger grazed the skid marks. Sam looked his brother in the eyes, at Dean's dilated pupils…his big brother was humiliated. He could see tears of relief and humiliation fall down Dean's pale, clammy face.

Taylor woke and came running to the closet, "I can explain…I had my orders…it's not my fault!" She rambled on, hoping Sam wouldn't kill her for what she'd done to his big brother. Dean screamed through his gag. "You know how it is; you get an order and you have to…"

"Enough!" Sam exclaimed. He put a hand around her waist and kissed her on the forehead. "Don't worry about it, I know when you get an order you have to do it…no matter what." Dean screamed again and pulled on his restraints, slamming his body against the chair. He looked at his brother desperately.

"You know, when we where kids, he was my dad's favorite." Sam snorted. "He did everything right; I always got the 'why can't you be more like Dean' shit all the time," he said and walked to his brother and punched him.

"I wonder what dad would think of you now, huh, Dean?" Sam laughed, "Pathetic!" He punched Dean two more times and turned to Taylor, "Hey, I have an idea, go get my cell."

She gave him a knowing smile than said, "Pictures?" He nodded. "You're so mean!" He raised an eyebrow. "Okay, wait here."

Sam turned to Dean and said, "I guess I get the extra cookie, right, Dean?" He smiled an evil smile as Taylor quickly returned with his cell. He took a few pictures and said, "Smile for daddy." He laughed even harder and punched Dean two more time, with more force than before.

Sam turned to the side, seeing a very skimpy outfit, "Oh, Taylor you should put this on." He picked it up and showed it to her

"That's Kim's," she didn't want to wear it but she would for him…she like him. What they had done wasn't just sex, they'd bonded. "But, if you want me to wear it I will." She took it and began to undress.

"No, no I want it to be a surprise!" he said, smiling. She smiled back and left the closet.

Sam watched her go, making sure she wasn't watching. Satisfied, he bent down in front of his brother who was spitting out profanities through his gag. Sam opened his mouth and with his tongue, swiped the inside of his cheek and brought his tongue to the middle, showed his brother that he had a razor on his tongue. Dean pulled and struggled with his restraints, what was his brother planning to do to him? Sam reached for the razor and carefully placed it in Dean's hand.

Sam gave his brother a reassuring smile and slid his hand under his brother's. Dean grasped it, holding it tight, tears falling freely down his face, he silently thanked Sam for helping him. Sam got up and wiped his brother's face, and as much as he knew Dean would hate it, he bent down and kissed his brother on the forehead. He'd most likely never see Dean again and the chance of him being taunted would be slim. With a heavy heart, Sam turned off the light and closed the closet door, taking away his view of his brother.

* * *

James watched Sam go upstairs to the girl's apartment; after a few hours he came down. James then followed him to 11 West Grove St. and watched as the young man checked the sheet for the right address. James watched and, as Sam approached the door, James thought he saw a glimmer of regret in his face. He dismissed it, however, by saying it was dark, how could he see that?

The woman at the door ran inside after a short while and Sam ran inside after her. James froze again, why couldn't he move? He had to save her, he couldn't save Curtis, but he could save this woman. He decided to help her out and opened the car door just as Sam ran outside and to his car and drive away, Caleb not far behind them both.

James followed him a few miles and Sam stopped at a convenience store to get cigarettes and milk.

James followed him to his apartment and watched as Sam got ready for bed, falling asleep with a book. At three-thirty-eight am he'd had enough. He picked up his cell and called Sam's number.

"Hello?" came the groggy voice on the other end.

"I know what you did." James said tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

"What?" Sam got up and turned the light on.

"I know what you did; I saw you, _murderer_!" he spat out. "I won't let you get away with murder, not anymore. I've been watching you, your every move, and when you least expect it, I'm going to kill you…nice and slow. When I'm done, I'll be covered from head to toe in your blood." Then James hung up.


	7. Chapter 7

**So far we had Sammy going to hell, Dean on drugs, and John loosing is grip on his stoic disposition. LOL!! Is there any relief for the Winchesters? **

**Thanx to those who R&R, and some feedback would be great. Love it, hate it, frustrated with our boys endless troubles, any suggestions on how to kill Luke...or should I just leave him alive and let the Winchesters suffer. Hit the button and give me a piece of your mind.**

**Chapter 7**

Taylor wiped Dean's face clean from the shaving cream with a warm, damp towel. She then got up and cut his hair. She stood back to scrutinize her handiwork and remarked, "You look much better, here look." She took the mirror and showed him his image, carefully making sure she didn't see her own.

"Thanks so much, I do look a lot better!" he took in his appearance. He looked better, but his skin was pale, clammy, blotchy, he had a lesion on his forehead, and his hand shook; he tried his best to steady his hands.

"Hungry?" she asked as she walked to the kitchen.

"Yeah, I am, whatcha got?"

"Um…roast beef, thousand island dressing, some salad…not much."

"You got some Rye bread and sour kraut?"

"Ew! Kim use to eat that sour kraut shit…you like that?" She stood up, crinkling her face in disgust.

"You can make some Reuben's. I only like sour kraut with that sandwich, but it's pretty good." He smiled.

"Okay, I will," she prepared the sandwiches and brought them to Dean, undoing his restraints so he could eat. She held a .22 on him just in case he thought to escape.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. She shrugged her shoulders. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"I don't know, it's not your winning personality, that's for sure. You kinda get annoying after a while."

"Yeah well, being strapped to a chair for god knows how long, and force fed heroin can do that to a guy," he said, taking another bite of the sandwich, but taking it slow. He wasn't eating much, he knew his stomach couldn't take it because of the heroin, but he also knew his body had to have the nutrients and substance if he'd have any chance at all of escaping.

"I'm doing it for Sam, I really like him," she said with a smile and lowered the gun.

"Sam? I don't understand; he beat me up, he doesn't care." Dean put the sandwich down, feeling a little sick.

"I saw him kiss you. He cares, he's just…going through a rough time right know. I figured I'd take care of you for him before I kill you," she raised the gun, reminding him not to try anything.

"You're going to kill me, what the hell are you waiting for?"

"For Luke to say so," she got up to tie him up again.

Later on that night and after she fell asleep, Dean got out the razor and began carefully cutting the ropes again. He thanked god that she hadn't noticed some of it had been cut and it made it easier for him to free himself. He walked to the dresser, removing her stockings, and woke her up. He quickly tied her up, and grabbed her by the hair.

"Where is Sam?" He screamed at her.

"I don't know! Please go back onto the chair," she cried.

"You crazy bitch!" He growled and slapped her

"Please, you don't understand. If you don't get back in the chair and let me tie you up again, Luke will do the same thing he did to Kim to me…please," she sobbed, begging. She knew he wouldn't go back into the chair, but she had to try…her life was at stake.

"It's your bed of nails, now you have to lie in it. Where is Sam?" He yelled louder, twisting his fingers in her hair.

"I don't know!" He let go of her hair

"It doesn't matter; I'll find him…he can't be too far." He turned around and saw the heroin on the table. He had to find Sam, but his body craved the drug so much! It had been several hours since his last hit and he needed it.

His fingers hovered over the items, wanting it, craving it, he needed it, one hit, he could find Sammy, fix him and than kick the habit. That was a good plan. He quickly prepared a small dose of the heroin and his arm and shot-up…he didn't want to take as much as they normally gave him…he had to be able to function and find Sam. Dean took a deep breath as the drug began to circulate and the room began to tilt, but he was able to keep it together. He picked up the rest of the items and left, saying goodbye to his prison and hell hole, for how long? It didn't matter.

* * *

Sam opened the door for Luke and he walked in roughly. Sam was nervous; how was he going to explain that someone saw him take a soul, and was threatening to kill him?

Luke grabbed Sam by the arm, throwing him onto the floor.

Outside, Caleb watched. He scrunched his face, the man, who he presumed was Luke Sullivan was a little shorter than Sam and Caleb was sure Sam could take him, why was he being so passive? He picked up his headphones, put them on and listened.

Luke began to hit Sam on the back of his head; with each hit he hit harder. "Why did you go to Taylor's?" He shouted.

"I was covering for Brian; he said he was sick…too much crack I guess." Luke hit him again.

"Dean's gone." Luke yelled, shaking with rage at another lost opportunity.

Caleb listened intently, Sam knew where Dean was? Why didn't he call John?

"Did you have anything to do with it?"

"No, no I swear…I swear I had nothing to do with it. I…I found him in the closet," Sam smiled weakly, hoping this would please Luke. "I beat him, I called him pathetic, I took pictures…do you want to see?" Luke nodded and Sam reached into his back pocket and got his cell phone, handing it to his master.

Luke laughed "He was quite pathetic wasn't he?" He laughed again.

"Are you pleased with me master?" Sam shuddered at the usage of the word master. He'd started using that word a lot lately and he was amazed at how much he wanted to appease Luke.

Caleb pressed the headphones tighter against his ears; did he hear that right? Sam said master? "What the fu…"

"Very much so," Sullivan handed the cell back to Sam, noticing the scares on his hands. "Take your sweater off, I want to see." He touched the back of Sam's neck, Sam obeyed. Luke shuddered at the sight of Sam's scars, the younger man noted the reaction and he felt ashamed…he was hideous.

Caleb leaned forward, seeing the massive scares on Sam's back and chest.

"Dear god, Sammy," he shook his head.

"I'm hideous, aren't I?" Sam could feel the tears in his eyes.

"It's my fault, I, I never…" Sullivan trailed off, lowering himself to the floor, he sat close to Sam, too close. Sam raised his head and looked at Luke, he knew what he wanted.

Sam got up and walked to the window. _Oh god he wants to…I can't, I've done so much already, I can't. _Sam could see his alter-ego in the reflection of the glass.

**You have to Sam, it's the only way to get into his good graces. Maybe we'll get a better car…or apartment. **

_I can't, he's a guy._

**He's our master and what he says goes…you have to…we have to.**

Sam and his alter-ego nodded in agreement. He walked back to Luke, who now was standing. Sam took a deep breath in, went to Luke and kissed him.

Caleb couldn't believe what he was seeing…were they kissing? "Ewww!!!" he remarked out loud, squirming in his seat.

"Stop!" Luke pulled away, it took everything inside of him to pull away, he wanted Sam so much. "I can't."

"What? Why not?" Sam said, trying to hide how relieved he was. Part of him didn't want to stop, he wondered what he had done to displease Luke. "Have I done anything to upset you? This is what you want, right?"

"It's not what you want…is it?" he waited for Sam to respond, but his silence was Luke's answer. "I'm leaving."

"Please wait, I…I want to do whatever you want me to do."

"Oh Sammy, maybe it's a good thing your dad and brother are not here!" Caleb said, not even realizing he had been holding his breath.

"No, Sam," Luke responded and left.

Sam turned around and put his sweater back on; he knew that the real reason Luke pulled away was because he was so hideous. He didn't realize that it was because Luke felt guilty about what he had done to Sam.

Sam went to the window and watched Sullivan drive away and started to pace. Was Luke angry with him? He clenched his fists, pacing faster; he punched the wall. It was because he was so disgusting, hideous, unwanted and unlovable. His father had even stopped looking for him! It was what Sam wanted, but he didn't think his dad would give up on him this quickly. Why wouldn't he? His father had given up on him when he went to college, it wouldn't be so hard for him to give up now.

Sam knew he had to make it up to Luke. He picked up the sheet of paper and looked at the names that had been scratched out. He traced his finger down the list, he had three more people to collect. The next one was for tomorrow, but he could take her today…there was no real reason why he should wait.

Caleb watched Sam from below as he became agitated, he still couldn't figure out Sam's actions. He kept one eye on Sam and one eye on James, who kept both eyes on Sam. Caleb could see James was getting angry as Sam reached for the sheet of paper. He couldn't figure out what Sam had done to this man, but he did know that he was going to be trouble and Caleb had to protect Sam, at all costs. John might have already lost Dean, he couldn't loose Sam, too.

James reached for his cell again and phoned Sam as he was getting ready to leave. Sam picked up and Caleb quickly changed frequency so he could listen in on the phone conversation.

"Hello!"

"You really are some kind of freak, aren't ya!" Sam walked to the window and looked down at the streets below, searching for the source of the call.

"Who are you?"

"You don't really think I'm going to tell you, do you?" James snorted, watching Sam get nervous. "When the time is right, I'll reveal myself. You must be a really lousy lover, he wasn't up there very long. But, I did enjoy watching him beat you, did he give you those scars?" James laughed.

"Shut up!" Sam screamed. He started to pace and his lips quivered, he could feel himself getting angry.

"Oh, did I touch a sore spot, poor baby."

"Son of bitch!" Caleb muttered.

"Shut up! When I find you, you're going to wish you never saw what I did. Tell me, who was it that you saw me take…your mommy, your girlfriend, maybe it was that male prostitute that gives it to you in the middle of the night, or maybe it was your daddy who made you…"

"Shut up!" James screamed into the phone from the bottom of his lungs, causing his face to turn beet red. He slammed the phone shut against the steering wheel so hard he broke it.

Sam laughed, knowing he had upset that sick freak. He turned around and went downstairs to his car and drove to his next "client's" home.

* * *

John came down the stairs rubbing his weary eyes. Bobby came out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee and, as he passed John, he said "Mornin' Sleeping Beauty, I see the prince finally came to give you his magical kiss." Bobby snickered.

"You're just jealous he kissed me and not you."

"Oh no, he's all yours!" Bobby laughed as he sat down.

"I had a dream that Brook Shields came to me; she was wearing that bikini she wore in Blue Lagoon." John sat down and smiled, for a short while he forgot about his boys.

"Oh, man, Blue Lagoon!" they both laughed.

"Got any of that for me?" John rubbed his face. He was so tired and his body was having a hard time recovering…with the lack of sleep and the worry over his boys.

Bobby, noting the exhaustion in his face, nodded his head and got up, getting John a cup of caffeine. As he poured the cup he heard John's phone ring.

"Caleb, whatcha got for me?" John asked anxiously.

"I got a lot, your boy is in deep shit, I mean knee deep, and I mean he's swimming and the waves of…"

"Caleb" John snapped, effectively shutting his friend up.

"Oh, sorry. Anyways, I have been watching your boy, and well, his behavior is odd, I mean he's doing stuff he'd never do."

"Like what?" John started to tap his fingers against the table quickly, feeling the dread creeping up.

"Well, there was a woman, Sam went to see her, they spoke and she ran inside, he ran after her and a short while later, he ran out. I checked with the police…she's dead." He paused, waiting for John to respond. When there was no response, he continued.

"He also went to another girl's apartment and they had sex, but I always thought Sam wasn't the type to have one night stands."

"He isn't."

"He's buying smokes. This guy, I think it's Luke Sullivan, started to beat him, but Sam didn't stop him. Sam could've taken him, but he didn't lift a finger to defend himself at all. I bugged his apartment and his phone, I think you should listen to the tapes." He grabbed the tape recorder and put it to the phone and pressed play.

John listened intently. He heard a mention of Dean, his heart raced, Sam was saying Dean was pathetic and that he beat him…but worst of all he heard Sam call Luke master. This is where Caleb stopped it, not wanting John to hear the rest of the tape.

"Is that it?" John bellowed, knowing Caleb was holding something back.

"Uh…yeah."

"What do you mean? Uh, yeah." John yelled as he pounded his fist on the table.

"Why are you yelling? I'm doing you a huge favor here…I had a job in Texas you know."

"I'm sorry, Caleb. What else do you have?"

"It's okay, listen to the next tape, it's from a phone call from a James Monroe. John, he's stalking Sam."

"He's stalking Sam? Why?"

"I don't know, listen." Caleb put another tape into the recorder and against the phone again and played the tape. When it was done, he said, "This guy is nuts, John. I'm watching them both; I won't let him hurt Sam…I promise."

"Thank you, Caleb. I really appreciate it." John hung up and looked up at Bobby who could see the mixed emotions of guilt, sadness, and pain in his old friend's face.

He put the coffee down and sat down next to his friend, picking-up the phone to call one of his contacts in a small town in North Dakota. They had a lead on Dean and they had to work fast if they were going to save both of John's boys.

* * *

"Yes, everything's going well…nothing to worry about. Sam is more than we originally anticipated. He's already turning, I can practically feel the evil burning inside of him." Luke paused, listening intently to his instructions, then he finally said "Yes, father I understand," and he hung up.

* * *

**Oh! What did Sam do??? How far will Sam go? And where has Dean gone? Love it??? Hate it??? Press the button and give me your two cents!!**


	8. Chapter 8 Samurai Warrior

**Finally got chapter 8 up, I had a few problems uploading it. This chapter will answer the question where is Dean and will be rehabilitated. I have to admit this is my favourite chapter, and it leave everything with a little mystery.**

**Hope you all like it**

**Chapter 8--An honourable death or a Samurai Warrior**

The snow floated down upon the earth gently, a light white haze falling on top of the blanket that already covered the cold hard earth. A thin layer lay on top of the windshield, the whooshing of the windshield wipers was the only sound in the now still car. The driver side window was open half-way, leaving a thick layer of snow on the driver's upper thighs and left shoulder. The young man's skin was pale, his lip's a pale blue and open a bit. A handsome young man with a leather jacket; he was dead, he had to be dead, how could he survive being out here?

David Suzuki looked the man over. Pushing his glasses further up his button nose, he moved closer, examining every bit of the man's prone body. A small misty cloud, so light and thin he almost didn't see it escaped the man's slightly plump lips. Suzuki quickly opened the door, leaning over the younger man, his fingers reaching for the man's frozen body, feeling the deep chill, the shaking form.

"Are you okay?" His voice frantic at the sight, his teeth chattered at the hollowing winds. How was he going to get this man into the cabin? He shook the man, "Wake-up, I'm an old man, I can't carry you!" he spoke as if the man was awake.

He stood up, looking at the far off cabin, biting his lip. It would be a difficult trek, but he had to do it, otherwise this young man would die. He opened the backseat door and rifled through the young man's items. His fingers hovered over the syringe that he'd almost pricked himself on its sharp, slightly bloody tip…a junky! He shook his head and thought about leaving this man to die out here. It would be a better ending than to die on the streets with a needle protruding from his arm, another dead junky! He pulled himself from the car, walked to the driver's side and leaned forward.

"It's more of an honorable death than to die on the streets," he whispered into Dean's ear. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezing it, he started to turn. Noticing something in the young man's hand, a photo, he leaned forward to grab it. There were three men sitting together…the frozen junky sitting in front of him, an older man smiling, and another young man, younger. Suzuki turned the picture around, it read:

_Dad, Sammy, and me, summer 2001, our last hunt together_

Suzuki's fingers traced over the letters, soaking in the words, his family, this young man's family. Sammy must be his brother, he concluded…last hunt? He scrunched his nose, wondering what that meant. His eyes went back to the young man, did he have more family? Was he a disgrace? Was that why they no longer hunted together?

Suzuki went back to the backseat and pulled out two blankets. Placing one on the ground, he began pulling the younger man from the car. Stumbling as he pulled, the snow knee deep, he cursed in Japanese. The elderly man pulled himself up, gripping the younger man's shoulders tighter, his fingers slipping, he pulled harder, grunting at the man's heaviness and cursing the snow, praying to his ancestors for the strength to save this man's life. They must've heard him…he could feel his ancestors pulling with him as he pulled the frozen young man to the blanket.

At that moment, the old gentleman knew this man was more than he seemed. He wasn't just another junky…his body wasn't wasted from drug use, this was a man with a destiny, one that was great, he could feel it. His ancestors had chosen this young man to become a great warrior, if he wasn't one already, and he was honored they chose him to save this life. Somehow he knew the young man had stumbled with the drugs, wasn't just another junky; he would help this man get back on the right path.

As Suzuki eased the man's body onto the blanket, he sunk into the snow.

"Son of a bitch!" he cursed out loud. He hadn't considered that Dean might sink into the snow. This was a lot tougher than he imagined, but he had to move forward. It was his destiny to save this man's life, to help him with his great journey. Suzuki gripped the other blanket, placing it upon the frozen body of a son, a brother, possibly a father, but not a lost soul, the elderly man would see to that.

The elderly man moved to the other side; he took a deep breath as a strong, bitter cold wind greeted him, reminding him of the dangerous predicament and to hasten his steps. He picked up the two corners of the blanket, prayed to his ancestors, and pulled Dean to his cabin…a good half-mile trek.

They finally reached the cabin and Suzuki pulled Dean up the four steps, grunting, gritting his teeth, gripping Dean's shoulders tighter, his fingers digging deep into the young man's skin, pulling as hard as he could. He fell backwards with the last effort to haul the frozen man over the final step. Dean's heavy body lay on top of the old man, cutting off his oxygen. Suzuki gasped at the heaviness and lack of air and shifted, moving from under Dean's still body.

He stood-up, placing a hand on one of the solid oak pillars, taking in air, resting for a moment. He shook his head, he could rest inside. He turned around and opened the door and gripped the blanket, his face red with the effort, pulling Dean inside and to the fireplace. The fire was almost out so the elderly man turned to his pile of wood. He had enough to start the fire up again; he tossed the dry timber into the fireplace, poking at it, moving it, the fire came alive, devouring the wood as if the fire was a god and the wood was its sacrificial lamb.

The bright orange and yellow danced, reflecting in Suzuki's glasses. He turned to his new guest…was he still alive? He removed his jacket and placed it on top of the young man, pushing his fingers to Dean's neck, looking for a pulse. He sighed in relief as he found it, faint but steady in defiance to death, a 'fuck-you' to the grim reaper. Suzuki smiled, this stranger was a tough son of bitch. He'd already taken a liking to the young man, strong; resilient; he had a warrior spirit, maybe a great Samurai in his past life, the elderly man smiled at the thought.

With renewed determination, he stood-up, crossed the large room to a large built-in wooden bookcase and scanned the titles. He roughly knew where the book was, his eyes rapidly moved side to side, his fingers hovering overtop of the bindings, mumbling to himself the names of the titles in English and Japanese. He let out a triumphant shout when he found the book. He quickly grabbed it; others fell to the floor, one hitting his big toe…he cursed again. Suzuki opened the book, turned, and scanned through the pages, treating each page as if it was sacred text, mumbling to himself, tracing the words.

"Hypothermia!" he exclaimed, quickly reading the text, soaking in the information. He scrunched his nose, his eyebrows becoming one. His eyes bugged out as he read that skin to skin contact was the most effective and expedient way to warm a hypothermic body.

He lowered the book and looked at the fallen warrior, the idea of being naked with another man was unappealing, but he couldn't allow this young man to die! He put the book down, went upstairs to the linen closet and got some blankets. Rushing down to place the blankets on top of the young man, he disrobed Dean and himself and climbed into the warmth that welcomed him. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around Dean, moving close, sharing the cold that lay within this body, shivering, the coldness of his body shocked Suzuki, but he pushed past it, nothing would stop him, he rubbed at the young man's body.

Dean could feel a heat coming from somewhere, a warm constant heat. His body welcomed the relief; he felt safe, secure. The heat dug deep within him, seeping through his muscles, through to his bones, and his organs, conquering the invading cold that held its icy grip on his body, a still fast enemy that lay within his body.

But, there was another sensation…something more constant, more insidious. He knew what it was, an unvarying pain, need, want. It reared its ugly head, shouting, screaming, demanding that it be heard, that the need be quenched…he opened his eyes. The pain was unflinching, it dug deep, the warmth forgotten, the pain, the need, the want, the desire dug deep, too deep, he fought, but he was weak, he wanted to scream, but he had no voice. His heart raced, his breath quickened, he clenched his fist, hard, his nails digging deep into the soft skin of his palms. He relaxed, not being able to take anymore pain. His breathing harsh, irregular, he looked around, where was he? He saw a stout hairy arm wrapped around him and turned around to see a short, stout, old Japanese man asleep beside him. What the hell happened?

Dean quickly sat-up, the pain still constant, the shock joining the party of pain, fear, confusion, and oh god please tell me what I think happened really didn't happen!

"What the hell? Where am I? Who are you? Why are we…we didn't," he shouted frantically, attempting to stand, stumbling, his legs in a tangled mess with the blankets, he fell backwards.

Suzuki woke with a start at his guest's reaction, he stood-up, put on a long kimono style robe, wrapping the long belt around his protruding stomach. He picked-up the book and showed it to Dean. "Skin to skin contact, most effective way to treat hypothermia." He smiled. Dean's eyes scanned the words, relief rushing over him, the pain still constant, still screaming, never leaving…Dean needed to take care of his habit.

"I have to go, where are my clothes?" the young hunter raked a shaky hand through his hair, his leg too close to the radiating heat of the fire, threatening to burn his flesh. He didn't need more pain, so he moved his knee.

Suzuki frowned; he'd taken care of the hypothermia, now he had to take care of the heroin.

"I know you have…a habit. I will not help you kill yourself, I threw the heroin away."

Dean's first reaction was to kill this man, how dare he throw away his heroin? Who the hell did he think he was? His second reaction was one of relief, he didn't want the drug, he wanted to be free, he didn't wanted it in the first place.

"Please…" His voice shaky, racked with pain, trepidation, how was he going to function without it? "I…nnneed it…ppplease…" His body shook, the pain increasing, resonating through him, it was excruciating! "**Please you have to…"** He screamed as the pain, burrowed deep inside of him.

Suzuki ran to him, tears stung at his eyes, remembering his own father's failed attempts to be free of opium; he took hold of the younger man's shoulders, keeping him close. "You must fight the pain young warrior. I know it is difficult, but it is poison, you will conquer this evil."

The older man's voice was strong and unwavering, but the pain was stronger. Dean punched the old man, he ran to the door exposed save his boxers, the bitter icy cold shocking his already vulnerable system. He shivered deeply as he scanned the area, searching for his car. Finally seeing it about a half mile away, he ran to it, opening the back door, throwing all his possessions to the ground. He needed it so much, his hands shook, his bare feet screamed at the frozen ground they were forced to stand upon.

"I need it…where is it…I need…" He fell to the ground, shivering, crying, his hands over his face, covering his shame, humiliation, and his weakness.

Suzuki ran to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Dean raised his head, his eyes pleading, "I don't want it, I never wanted it…please help me!"

The old man bent down, "That is a start. Let's go inside…I don't like the idea of being naked beside you again, the neighbors might talk," he smiled and Dean couldn't help but laugh.

Dean got up. He had very little pride left, being strong enough to get up by himself and defeating the drug was all he had left.

_John woke-up in a wheat field, he looked around, wondering how he got there. He slowly got-up, looking around, he knew his boys were here, but where…? And why?_

_He walked, the warm breeze welcoming, soothing, it held the sweet smell of Rosemary and Lavender. He smiled at the memory, Mary had loved the smell of Rosemary and Lavender, he'd even bought her Lavender perfume. After her death, he kept a pouch of its dried flowers in his pocket, stroking the soft suede, putting it to his nose smelling its sweet scent, taking in its soothing properties, and the memories of his beloved lost wife._

_The middle-aged man searched the empty land, his hand tenderly gracing the tops of the wheat plants._

"_Dad" John turned to see Dean standing in front of him. He was close, he could see his handsome face, his eyes looked green in the sunlight, a soft breeze wisped through his short, spiky as if it was a child playing with his hair._

_A smile came across John's face, "Dean, thank god! Are you okay?" A tear stung his eyes, his boy was safe, Dean was safe, at least something in this chaotic world was right._

"_Yeah dad, I'm good," Dean smiled, he was at peace. He held a hand out to his father for a long over due embrace, a tender moment they both so desperately wanted and needed._

_John stretched out his hand, their fingers close, their tips almost becoming one. Then John saw something, something around Dean's torso…fingers, long, thin, grotesque, fingers. They had long, thin, cylindrical-shaped nails, grabbing him, digging into his flesh._

"_Dad…" the boy pleaded to his father to save him, to make the monster go away._

"_Dean!" John shouted as Dean was thrown backwards and disappeared._

"NOOOOO!" John screamed, bolting-up from his nightmare.

Dean spent the next few days in excruciating pain; he screamed, cried, punched his fist into the wall. Suzuki tended to his every need, he sat by him, gave him green tea, swearing by its many virtues and healing elements. Dean didn't want it, it was bitter, and he was barely able to keep anything down, but somehow it helped him. Suzuki spoke to him, into his ear soothingly, his hot breath softly blew into Dean's ear, his last words were a question which Dean answered.

"Yes, I understand…yes, we do."


	9. Chapter 9 Slaves & Master

**Chapter 9--Slaves and Masters**

James had a huge smile on his face as he scribbled on another yellow post-it note. He started to laugh as he gazed upon his handy work; sticking the last one on the mirror, he put the cap back on the marker and quickly left.

He imagined Sam's reaction when he saw what had been done to his home. He snickered as Sam's scared face flashed through his mind and as he visualized Sam's violent temper tantrum, he couldn't help laughing out loud. He felt alive! The adrenaline was pumping through him making his heart race faster than it ever had before. He ran to his car…anticipating, waiting, excited. He tried to think of something else but eventually his mind went back to Sam…what was Sam doing? What would he do to Sam next? How would he torture him when he got Sam alone?

James found himself sometimes fantasizing, but lately he was always thinking, planning, anticipating the screams, the blood, the cries and pleas for him to stop and never giving the young man any relief. In the end, it was always the same vision…Sam's death. To James' surprise, he became aroused with his fantasies…often having to relieve himself.

He was married; his wife a twenty-five year old girl, his daughter's best friend was seven months pregnant. His daughter, Melissa was furious with him for becoming involved with her, but to him it was worth the sacrifice. He was in his mid-forties and a young, gorgeous twenty-five year old girl was interested in him…often doing things other girls wouldn't unless they were bought and paid for. However, he soon found himself less than interested in his wife…she had gained a lot of weight while pregnant and her eating habits turned him off. To his surprise, he started to fantasize about killing Sam during sex, killing was what really got him going, not the over-sized ex-beauty queen.

James saw Sam's car and held his breath…he watched his wristwatch, knowing how long it would take for Sam to get inside. A smile came across his face, his hands shook with excitement, the adrenaline pumping, he could feel himself getting aroused again. He wondered why hurting this boy was turning him on. Was it the pain? Was it the knowledge that he did it specifically to Sam…? Or maybe it was the power?

He was a forklift operator, he'd never rise to a position of importance or authority. He often got into trouble with the law; and with a family of police officers, that made him a disgrace. But this…with this he had control, no one knew what he did, except for Sam. He put fear on that boy's face; often Sam looked over his shoulder, wondering if his stalker was behind him…was he going to kill him? When would he strike? And when his stalker did, how long would he keep Sam alive for?

* * *

Sam walked into his apartment, starving and tired; he could feel the weight of this job, taking lives, taking souls. Lately his dream world had turned against him, never allowing him to forget, reminding him of what he had done and who he really was.

He walked to the fridge and opened it, shocked to see post-it notes on all his containers. One read:

_Ingredients include:_

_Chicken,_

_Rice,_

_Vegetables,_

_Rat poison_

Another read

_This is good stuff, do you make this when your boyfriend comes by. Or that red headed tramp you like to fuck._

Sam could feel his hands shaking as he dropped the two containers; his breathing hitched, he started to hyperventilate. It was becoming difficult to breathe! He picked-up another container…it was transparent.

It read.

_Sorry, I was hungry but I left you something else I know you will love._

Inside was a dead rat!

Sam shut the door. He bent over as if he was in pain and he threw up. What had he done to deserve this? How much more could he take? Sam wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He stood and looked around, there weren't anymore post-it notes in the kitchen. He walked to his bedroom and quickly put a hand to his nose as the rancid acidic smell invaded his senses.

James went into a fit of laughter as Sam walked to the bed, smelling the little present he'd left Sam. James was thrilled that Sam's apartment had such large windows and he could see as much as he could of what went on inside from his location across the street.

Sam inspected the bed, it was wet, the smell…yep! It was urine; the deranged psycho who has been stalking him for the past month and a half urinated on his bed. Sheets, pillows, and mattress! Sam felt like being sick again…his hands were covered with another man's urine, his hands wouldn't stop shaking as he ran to the washroom.

The youngest Winchester reached the dingy basin, grabbing the soap and opening the water he began scrubbing at his hands; rubbing, using his nails scraping into the tender skin, his hands turning red. He rinsed his hands, again using his nails to get in as much as he could as if he had a disease in his hands he had to get rid of.

As he finally finished, he looked to his right and saw more post-it notes. One on the toilet said:

_Don't forget to put the seat down._

He turned to the bathtub and saw one on the tile, it read:

_I'm watching you, always watching you, wherever you go…I'll be watching you._

On Sam's shampoo and body cleanser it read:

_How dirty boys get clean, you're a dirty boy aren't you?_

Sam turned to the mirror and froze…what did that one say? He had an idea…the sicko saw his scars. It was a mirror, it didn't take a genius to finger it out, he lowered his head and started to walk away.

"**Sam where are you going?" **His alter ego asked. _Damn it when will it shut-up? When will it just leave me alone?_

"Leave me alone…I have nothing to say to you?" He screamed.

"**Look at what it says!" **The image shouted commanding Sam to face what he was…what he knew he was.

"No!" He screamed putting his hands over his ears.

"**Face reality Sam, face what we are!"** His image screamed louder, louder than Sam.

"Nooooo!" He turned to slam his fists into the mirror, which would cause more pain for him, more scars, to be more revolting than he already was. He stopped when he saw the post-it note…it read:

_Can't look yourself in the mirror? Because you're a murderer or because your revolting, hideous, disgusting. You are repulsive!_

Sam froze…the words hit home. Everything he had been feeling was in a little, yellow, square post-it note. He moved forward, mumbling the words to himself, becoming more a part of him…each word described him, the true Sam Winchester, the person on the other side of the duct tape. He traced the words with his fingers, the words Murderer, Revolting, Hideous, Disgusting, and Repulsive leaving his lips in a whisper.

A tear fell from his hazel eyes, he repeated the five words over and over again…..Hideous……Repulsive, new words came to his lips, Unloved, Unwanted, and Repugnant, these were his words.

Sam was finally able to leave the washroom, his image allowed him to leave, satisfied that it had tortured and maimed the poor boy enough. The stench of the urine infested bed assaulted his nose once again and he covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve. He went to the bed to get rid of it, when he saw the phone. He ran to it, he couldn't take it anymore, he needed to call him, he needed to know that he wasn't the monster in the mirror.

He quickly dialed the number, he heard it ring once…twice…three times, what was he thinking? Of course he wouldn't answer, but there was an answer.

"Hello?" The voice was groggy, awoken from a deep slumber or too many nights burning the midnight oil.

There was no answer.

"Who is this" The voice came again, more alert, guarded, still no answer. "I'm going to hang-up."

"Dad…" More tears, it felt so good and hurt so much to hear his father's voice. "I'm so sorry!"

"Sammy…is that you?" John sat-up, pulling the sheets off. He held his breath, hoping, praying…no pleading to god to just give him back his son; he promised he would never let him go, an embrace that would never end.

"I'm so sorry, dad." Sam went into an open cry.

John could feel his pain, it was as if it traveled through the phone cord and radiated through his body, he swallowed hard at the mountain-sized lump in his throat and his unwanted and unshed tears.

"I know you are son…but…" John didn't know what to say; he wanted to forgive Sam, but he couldn't just forget all the bad things his son had done. John heard Sam say he knew where Dean was, he heard him say he'd beaten his brother. How could Sam do that?

"I can fix this, whatever it is I can fix it. It's what dads do." John heard silence, sniffling, and heavy breathing.

"You can't dad," Sam finally spoke. The words hurt John to the core; Sam had said a lot of things to him, some hurtful, some true even if he was too proud to admit it, but Sam never said his dad couldn't fix things. The middle-aged man always held the belief that he could fix things, everything for his sons, and he hoped that they believed it too.

"I can try son," he said softly as tears ran down his stubbly face; a hand finding its way up and down his face to get rid of the tears.

"Do you love me?" Sam whispered. It surprised him how quiet and weak his voice was. He felt like a child running to his dad, clinging to his oversized leg, hoping he would stop the bully from hurting him.

There was silence. John was surprised by the question. Neither one of his boys ever asked him if he loved them…why was Sam asking? Didn't he know that John loved him?

"Of course I do, you're my son," John let out a huge breath. He finally spoke the words, well, he sort of did, Sam would never doubt his love ever again…would he?

"You're lying!" Sam spat out the accusation.

"What…? Why…why would you think I'm lying?"

"Because…because you don't…admit it you don't love me! You can't even say the words…how could you…you gave up on me…you hate me don't you?" Sam screamed as he stood-up and started to pace.

"Hate you? Never Sammy…I could never…"

"Stop lying…how can you…I'm hideous, I'm a monster…" Sam swung at the lamp sitting on his night table.

"Is that what Luke Sullivan has been feeding you? You're not hideous, you're my son!"

"Wow! Amazing! Do you think I'm stupid? I have a mind of my own. I can come to my own conclusions…_dad!_" Sam's voice held such abhorrence, such distrust, where had all this anger and hatred come from?

John leaned forward resting his elbow on his knee, his face hid inside his palm. The way Sam had said 'dad' held such venom, what was going on with his youngest?

"Its okay dad, don't worry you still have Dean…oh right, no you don't!" Sam slammed the phone down.

John dropped the phone, not raising his head. Bobby heard the whole conversation from the hallway and wanted to comfort his friend, but he knew better. John was a proud man and he would want to deal with it privately. He walked away.

* * *

James watched from below. He hadn't anticipated Sam's reaction; it was more than he ever imagined. Sam was hurt, it was deep, raw, James could feel the raw, jagged, bloody wounds. It seeped through every inch of Sam's body. The middle-aged man knew he hit a sore spot with the mirror and held his breath as the boy ran to the washroom.

Sam was crying…James felt no remorse, no pity, take no prisoners…feel no pity, this was war, and benevolence wasn't something you showed in war. James watched as Sam made a phone call, who was he talking to?

James snorted "Calling your whore…" He laughed, "Need her to kiss your little booboo, poor baby?"

From where he was sitting, he could see Sam say the word "dad". The boy had a family? He shook his head in disgust…the little brat had a family? Maybe he should look into who they are…make them pay for what their little boy had done to his brother. Maybe he should make the boy watch as he dismembered his dad, ripping, tearing, the screams, the blood. James could feel the blood racing through his veins; his heart was pumping so fast he thought it would burst through his chest…then Sam hung up, angry, raking a shaky hand up and down his hairless, smooth head

He was pacing, restless, edgy, pacing faster, his hands shook. James could see the look on Sam's face…the boy was scared, no he was petrified! He'd put that fear in Sam, he'd made him look outside wondering who was watching him. What were they going to do…and when?

A smile came across James's face, he never felt so alive! He saw a young prostitute walking to his car and rolled down his window to proposition the girl when a man came from behind her.

"I don't think you want to deal with this guy, sweetheart he's a real sicko. Here's fifty get lost." The man handed the girl money, and she quickly took it and left wondering if this guy had just saved her life.

The man quickly made his way to the passenger side, pulling something from behind him, and got in.

"What the fu…" James started; he froze when he saw the gun in the stranger's hand.

"Shut up and drive!" When James did nothing, the man shouted, "Now!" James obeyed.

The man gave directions and, keeping the gun low, they were soon at an abandoned warehouse. James could see the man was furious…the hatred was coming off of him in waves.

"Get out!" The man commanded. "And don't try anything!" He added. James exited with his hands in front of him, signifying he wouldn't try anything.

"Listen buddy, I don't know what I've done, but, if you want the car, go ahead."

"Step away from the car, and stand over there!" The man shouted and point to a spot that was a few yards from him.

James again obeyed the man's commands…this time without hesitation.

"On your knees." James bent down onto his knees. "You sick son of bitch, what the hell is wrong with you?" The man hissed; he kept a safe distance away from James, but was close enough to get in an easy fatal shot.

"What are you talking about?" James shifted. The cold, wet combination of mud and snow was gnawing at his knees, soaking his once warm flesh.

"I'm talking about Sam…I saw what you did!" He shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Sam…? Are you the one he called? You got one sick little boy there buddy! You won't have to worry about your disgrace of a son…I'll take care of him real soon." James' laugh was cut short as the man kicked him in the face. James fell to the ground face first into the mud. He put a hand to his newly bruised face and groaned.

"He's not _my_ son, but his father is a friend of mine. I like the kid; he doesn't deserve what you are doing to him."

James quickly got up, resisting the urge to wince at the pain, not wanting to show this stranger any physical weakness. "Doesn't deserve what I am doing to him? He deserves it and more. _He murdered my brother!_" he spat.

The man stood there, silent, his hand not wavering, but James could see what was in the man's eyes. "Oh, so you know he's a murderer. How much do you know? Maybe we can team up, and we'll get the little son of a bitch!" The man punched James.

"Let's get somethin' straight…I work alone, I don't associate with psychos, and I don't want to hurt Sam! I'm trying to protect him!" the man growled.

"What's your name boy? I want to remember you." The man punched James again.

"Don't call me boy!" He growled.

The middle-aged man rubbed his face; no broken bones but man he was going to feel it tomorrow.

"But, I'll tell you my name so you'll never forget it. It's Caleb." Caleb pressed his lips together into a thin line and walked to the slightly older man, pressing his gun firmly against his temple.

"Please I have a daughter, and my wife is pregnant!" James pleaded.

"I know." A smile came across Caleb's face and he cocked the hammer. "But, they'd be so much better without you!" James turned his head and could see Caleb's index finger pressing gently against the trigger.

"I might reconsider if you never go near Sam ever again."

"Alright, alright, I'll…I'll leave him alone." Caleb hesitated than moved away, his gun still drawn.

"If I ever see you near Sam…I swear I will ruin your life! And don't you dare make excuses, I know you live in the east, Sam's in the west…no excuses!" Caleb lowered the gun, cringing at the sight of James. He looked down and saw that James had soiled himself.

"Ugh! Why does that always happen?" Caleb turned around and walked to a car that was hidden in the shadows of the warehouse. James stayed on his knees as he watched Caleb leave.

* * *

Luke Sullivan walked down his steps, trying to adjust his cufflinks, fumbling with the right one as he always did. His butler, Francis smiled at his boss' inability to always put the right one on.

"You can never get the right one on, sir," he smiled as he fitted the cufflink, then he reached for the blazer sitting neatly on the arm chair and held it out for Luke to slip into.

"Thank-you, I have to go…I'm late." Luke sprinted for the door.

"Actually, sir, I have something pressing to discuss with you."

"Can't it wait? I'm late." Luke reached for his cell, searching for the number in his speed dial.

"No, sir it can't" Francis reached into his blazer and took out an envelope. Seeing that this was important to his friend, Luke quickly put his cell away. "It's with a heavy heart that I have to…resign." Francis handed Luke the envelope and the albino took it

"Why are you resigning?" Luke played with the envelope in his hands, tossing it from one hand to the other. He stared the elderly man in the eyes with wide red eyes.

"I have been with you for quite sometime, sir. I remember the young man who didn't want anyone to touch him, everyone had to call him master. But, soon I saw the young man inside and despite your…occupation, if you will, there is a person who breathes, bleeds, and loves."

"So, why are you leaving?" Sullivan asked, feeling like a little boy who just found out his best friend was moving away and never coming back.

"Because I don't like the company you keep. My daughter is with child, and the idea of something happening to her or her child because of my association with you, is unsettling to say the least."

"You mean Sam? He wouldn't hurt anyone, he's a little…"

"It is Sam, but it is also your father, and your visitor yesterday. Sir…he had black eyes. Also, I have been doing some digging around; there are men and woman…hunters, if they deem you as a threat, as I am certain they do, they might harm me as well…maybe my family."

Luke was silent as he held his head low, still playing with the envelope. "I'll give you a generous severance pay." His voice quiet, he cleared his throat not wanting the elderly man to hear the crack in his voice.

"There is no need for that."

"I want to." Luke lifted his head smiling at the man, excepting his decision to leave.

"I will take care of my things." He bowed his head excusing himself.

"Now?"

"The sooner the better," with that Francis turned and left.

Luke placed the letter on his coffee table and left his condo. He kept his head low, still trying to comprehend what had just happened, he bumped into Sam as he was heading for Luke's condo.

Luke turned around and saw who it was "Not now Sam, I'm late." Luke saw the look on Sam's face and put a hand on his shoulder "Are you okay?"

Sam shook his head, not saying a word. "Why don't you come in?" Luke turned Sam around and led him to the condo. Luke sniffed the air and cringed at the acidic smell. "Phew! You stink!" he put a hand to his mouth and nose.

He started to sniff Sam and quickly realized it was coming from his sleeves. "It's your clothes! Go upstairs, take a shower, and you can wear something of mine…" The younger man gave him a strange look "Don't worry, I have like two or three pairs of jeans and tee's, you won't blend into the décor."

Sam nodded his head and turned around, still not speaking a word.

As soon as Sam was upstairs Luke pulled out his cell and quickly hit the speed dial number, "Hi! Yeah I know…don't yell at me…yes…yes…but…ple…I…would you shut-up for two seconds so I can speak?" Luke regretted it as soon as he said it, pulling the cell away from his ear as he could hear yelling.

"Yes father, I won't speak to you like that again…I promise. I have to take care of something, please understand." he hated begging his father for anything. In fact, since he met Sam, he'd come to a startling realization…he hated his father. Luke listened intently and eventually answered, "Yes father," he quickly hung up and went upstairs to change.

He found Sam's clothes on the floor and picked the younger man's sweater, the one he hid behind, and brought it to his face and smelled it. The smell seemed to only be coming from his sleeves; most likely he was touching something. Luke picked everything up and put it into a hamper. He opened a drawer and pulled out two pairs of jeans and t-shirts leaving one set on the bed and dressing in the other.

He went downstairs with the hamper to the laundry room, staring at the washing machine and trying to figure out which buttons do what. After a while of mumbling to himself, scratching his head in confusion and shaking his head at the different settings, he finally figured it out. By the time he got the laundry in the machine and going, Sam was walking down the steps.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

Sam wanted to tell Luke what had happened, but part of him was fearful of his punishment for screwing up so badly, so he lied. "Nothing…nothing happened, just upset about…" he paused to think "My brother, my dad, I'm just going through a tough time."

"I understand, but why the hell do you smell like urine?" Sam quickly turned his head away. Luke sensed that Sam was hiding something, possibly outright lying. Sam didn't respond, but walked to the fireplace and sat down.

Luke took the hint, the subject was closed. "Are you hungry?" Sam shook his head, not facing Luke. Luke stood there, not knowing what to do…what was he going to do? _Tell him the truth you idiot! He'll hate you but at least he'll be free, can start a new life, and make amends with his family._

"Um, Sam…there is…" Luke started.

"Is it alright if I stay here tonight? I promise I won't be in your way. I just…" Sam trailed off; he felt so alone, so isolated. He often went to Taylor's for some semblance of human connection, but it always led to sex and always fell short of any real bonding, connection or anything that was anything but sex. It was strange that the only person he felt any relationship or connection with was Luke.

"Yeah, you can." Yep, Sam was lying, but why? Luke started to pace. He rubbed his chin, trying his best to come up with a way to tell Sam the truth.

"What's wrong?" Sam's voice woke Luke from his thoughts. Sullivan turned his head and said.

"I'll tell you if you tell me. What happened?" His voice turned very serious all of a sudden.

Sam took a deep breath he could tell Luke a half-truth. "I called my dad…we talked, I got upset…I said some things, mean things to him," he shook his head, "Why did I say those things, I'm…alone, I feel so alone, and the funny thing is he gave me everything I have ever wanted, and what do I do? I accuse him of lying." Sam shook his head, and scraped a hand across his eyes.

Sam paused looking at Luke, waiting, searching….for what? For answers? A means to end to all his pain and misery. Maybe to an end to this existence that held no meaning other than to cause pain and misery to others? Some, he reasoned, did deserve their inevitable and unfortunate destination, but, others….others like Claire and Curtis, what had they done to deserve such a tortuous end? What had he done to deserve this? Was this punishment for his mother's death?

"What? You got nothing? Are you just going to stand there and say nothing?"

Luke just stood there, saying nothing he had nothing for Sam, no answers, no happy ending, just hell on earth.

Sam stood-up "I want to know what you did to me. _I want to know_." Sam shouted, his eyes held the deepest emotion of rage, the epitome of resentment and frustration. "Why? Why the hell did I say to my father that he was lying when he said he loved me?"

Luke walked closer to Sam, asserting his position, reminding Sam who was master and who was slave.

"When I deem you worthy of knowing, if I ever deem you worthy of that type of information, I will answer you're questions. **But**, do not forget who is _master _and who is _slave_."

"Oh no, you will never let me forget." Sam snarled, moving closer, making it more than clear that their ranks held no meaning at that moment.

"It seems that I have to remind you. You know slaves are not allowed to reject anything that their master demands of them….." He moved closer, Sam shuddered, knowing what he wanted.

"Stay away from me." Sam shouted, Luke quickly backhanded him, the boy's head snapped back from the impact. A thin line of blood ran down the side of his face, mingling liberally with the cool sweat, an inevitable result of being too close to the fireplace. Sam put a hand to his face, it felt real, there was blood, and a slight sensation of pain registered in his brain. It was real, he really was having this conversation, this was no nightmare…..this was real.

Sam took a deep, shaky breath as he turned his head towards Sullivan who was still very angry.

"I'm sorry master, please forgive me." _What the hell is wrong with me?_ Sam wondered, he was making some grounds, why did he give-up so quickly.

A malevolent smile came across the man's pale, ghostly face, he licked his lips in anticipation "Go upstairs and….."

"No!" It was strange, when Sam screamed in defiance; he could've sworn he heard his brother say _'atta boy, you tell that evil son of bitch' _in his head.

"What?" Luke screamed, his smile gone, his red eyes wild with fury, a crazed look took over. Sam knew at that moment he was going to feel Luke's wrath, this was his end, he was going to hell, he prayed to god for forgiveness, to at least let his brother and father find his body….maybe they would give the youngest Winchester a decent barrel, the only thing he had left.

Luke slowly moved closer, he shook his head, he moved closer until his lips hovered over top Sam's, he whispered "I'll see you in hell, boy." He reached down and picked-up the poker that was resting in its own niche along with other fireplace accessorizes.

A single tear ran freely down his face, a single defiant tear that ran against orders not to show fear in the face of death……eternal damnation.

"Oh…" Luke wiped the tear away "You're crying," He laughed "That makes sense, because where you're going, your going to be in a looot of pain." He laughed again "But, you already knew that didn't ya."

Luke lifted the poker up, resting the sharp ebony color pointed end just below Sam's chin "But…." He started "I have some…..associates, if you please, who have a vested interest in keeping you alive." He swiped the poker quickly across Sam's neck, leaving a line of crimson in its wake.

Sam let-out a deep shaky breath that left him aching for more oxygen, and his chest heaved from the temporary absence of the vital element.

Luke replaced the item back to its resting place "You can't stay here, unless you stay upstairs."

"I'll leave." The words left Sam's lips as an overwhelming feeling of dread came over him, would he be punished, was that a trick?

Luke waved his hand in disgust, and Sam moved towards the door.

"Sam." _Damn it, almost there, almost…._

Sam turned around; Luke waved his hand, motioning for Sam to come back. When the slave returned, the master made his desire clear by pointing down. Sam obeyed without hesitation by going on his knees and bowing his head.

Luke bent down grabbing the back of Sam's neck, pushing his head down further, he whispered insidiously into his ear. "Never forget your place, slave. And the next time I want your body you give it to me willingly."

Sam cringed, he needed his brother so much, he needed to be saved, he never needed to be saved, well that was a lie, he never admitted he needed to be saved. But, he needed Dean so much, before he went to a point of no return.

"Do you understand me?" Luke yelled into his ear.

Sam nodded in obedience, Luke let-go and Sam quickly left, spending the frigate night in his car.

* * *

Bobby came out of the bathroom rushing towards John's cell phone . "Hey Caleb!"

"Hey Bobby, is John there?"

"No, he went to get some grub. I didn't realize he hadn't taken his phone. Whatcha got?"

Caleb took a deep breath, "The stalker…James…he stepped things up. He put notes all over Sam's apartment and he took a piss on Sam's bed…Sammy freaked."

"Shit! That asshole took a leak on his bed?" Bobby shivered, Caleb could hear it, "Did you take care of things?"

"Yeah, I did, I'm going to wait and see how things work out. I fixed Sam's place, too; when he comes home today, everything will be like nothing happened."

"Good, anything else?"

"I think Sam's loosing it…he's talking to himself, freaking out, he called John."

"Yeah I know, I heard."

"He needs his daddy, and he needed him yesterday. Are you close to finding Dean?"

"No."

"Okay, I'll keep my eyes peeled."

"Great, thanx Cal, we'll be in touch," Bobby hung-up as John came in.

"What? What is it?" John said as he put the paper bag of food on the motel table.

"James, Sam's stalker, trashed his place, Sam freaked." John opened his mouth to let all hell out, but Bobby put up a hand and continued, "Caleb took care of it. He also thinks Sam is starting to loose his mind, he said he's acting strange."

John took a deep breath, nodded his head and sat down at the table. He quickly opened a book he was reading before.

"John did you hear me?" Bobby asked, his eyes wide with astonishment. Was John loosing it too?

"I heard ya Bobby, loud and clear. It just means we gotta step things up a few notches. We can't rest…my boys need us…need me."

Bobby could tell that John wasn't going to relent. He admired his friend's determination, but he hoped it wouldn't cost John any more than what he'd already lost. The demon hunter quickly rifled through the paper bag, taking all the food out, placing one order in front of John and the other on his own bed.

Bobby ate, John read. After a few hours of research, calls to contacts, and listening to the police scanner, Bobby fell asleep on his bed. John burned the midnight oil until his body couldn't take it anymore and he fell asleep at the table.

* * *

_John woke lying again in the field. "Oh god, not again!" John exclaimed as he stood-up, again searching for Dean._

"_Dad!" John turned around, he'd learned his lesson the first time…he ran to Dean and hugged him._

"_Thank god, thank god, are you okay?" He pushed Dean away to arm's length, a smile was across his eldest son's face, John noticed an elderly man behind Dean._

_The man had an quizzical look on his face, "This is very odd…this isn't suppose to happen!" The old oriental man exclaimed._

"_Who are you?" John inquired, pulling his boy behind him._

"_I am a helper, a healer, a guide, your son is a warrior. I intend…" before the man could finish, the same long grotesque fingers dug deep into him, pulling him away…he disappeared._

_John quickly turned around, Dean was gone too!

* * *

_

John jerked awake, his fingers still laced into the handle of his coffee mug, _can't sleep, don't sleep, don't sleep…_John repeated the mantra in his head. He took a quick look into his mug…it was empty. He got up quickly, too quickly, the room spun, his vision became blurry, he held onto the table to regain his senses.

When he was again balanced, he rubbed at his weary red eyes, taking in deep breaths, he moved. The room spun again and before he knew it, his body was falling, his mind registered something wrong, it screamed at him to stop it, to grab hold of the table, but it was too late, his body couldn't take anymore. His mug shattered when his weak, worn-out, exhausted body hit the ground.

* * *

**So, this is the second field dream that John has had, any ideas what they mean or why John is having these dreams. Hint: The why is very important.**


	10. Chapter 10 The Suzuki Factor

**Here is chapter 10, this is a very important chapter, Dean finds out who is really behind all these deals, and that he and his brother are in much more trouble then he thought. Hope ya all like it.**

**Chapter 10--The Suzuki Factor**

Dean crept down the steps, quietly, gently, stealthily. He knew where all the creaks and cracks were…his bare feet landed toes first as if they were the look-out and once it was safe the rest of his foot made it down. Taking in his surroundings, he adopted a fighting position, readying himself to attack. When he finally made it to the main floor, he spotted his prey sitting cross-legged in front of Buda, praying.

The young hunter moved to the left, knowing it was the weaker side; he pulled his Japanese sword from its beautifully decorated sheath that was strapped to his waist, resting against his hip, now a part of his own body. As he pulled the sword forward, the morning sun reflected off of its dragon etched steal blade, highlighting its curves, accentuating its beauty. He moved closer to his enemy. Under normal circumstances he would be cocky and self-assured; he knew this elderly man was a master, a skilled fighter, a man, despite his physical limitations who showed great skill in hand to hand combat and his swordsmanship was even more impressive.

The young Winchester, now in perfect position to strike, raised the sword and swiftly brought it down, only to be met by the elderly Japanese man's own sword. Dean stood there stunned, the sound of the steel blades hitting each other sent shock waves through Dean's ears. Suzuki didn't move, not an inch, as if his arm had a mind of its own and the rest of his body still hadn't reacted to what was happening.

"Son of bitch!" Dean cursed out loud.

Suzuki quickly got to his feet and the battle began, the Samurai swords clashed, the sound of razor sharp steel on steel striking reminded Suzuki of the Gaohu. A two string Chinese instrument Suzuki's neighbor use to play. Suzuki kept one arm tucked neatly behind him and he met each and every move Dean made. He watched, studied, the boy never gave up. The young hunter kept a stoic look on his face and, in turn, watched and studied every move the elder man made.

They moved to the center of the room and, in a flash, Dean faked left. When Suzuki fell for it, Dean swiped him on the right, a move he had been practicing all week. The sword flew up into the air, twisting, reflecting in the morning sun.

Then, with pure luck, a damn good catch, or maybe it was that he was a better fighter than he led on, old gentleman caught it in mid air, and in one fluid motion he swiped at Dean legs. In response, Dean jumped backward landing smoothly on top of the coffee table. Dean stifled a small chuckle at the move that seemed to come directly from the Matrix.

_Eat your heart out Keanu!!_

The loss in concentration cost the boy, though. The older man moved swiftly and in seconds Dean's back was down on the table with Suzuki's sword inches from his face.

"5 to 1" Suzuki smiled.

"Son of a bitch!"

"You say that a lot!" he laughed. Suzuki removed his sword from Dean's face and replaced the weapon back into its resting place; he held out his hand to help his newest warrior in training stand up.

"Man, I almost had you!" Dean chuckled good-naturedly.

"You were thinking of the Matrix weren't you?" Suzuki said with a slight smirk on his plump face.

"How did you know?" Dean inquired as he took the outstretched hand and stood-up.

Suzuki laughed, "Because I thinking it too." They both laughed.

"Alright, what's for breakfast?" Suzuki raised an eyebrow. "Come on, we've been meditating for two weeks; I'm over it, trust me…I never…never want to go back to drugs ever again." He eyed the older man for a second then continued, "You believe me don't?"

"Of course I do. It takes courage, strength, and determination to beat such a powerful evil…all virtues you have shown these past few weeks. However…" he raised his index finger to emphasize his point, "this is a powerful enemy, one that will always be with you; you will die wanting the drug."

Suzuki paused and lowered his head, rubbing his chin. "My father…" He shook his head, the painful memories rearing their ugly head.

"He fought his addiction his whole life; he won…once, but in the end, he lost. I…I found him in his study when I was twelve." He turned around and Dean could see the tears in the old man's eyes. It scared him; he didn't want to hurt his family the same way Suzuki's father hurt him.

"You speak of your family with such love and devotion; I know you love them, and you want to help your brother, but you must help yourself first." Dean nodded his head and removed the sheath from his waist.

They both sat down and Suzuki guided Dean into his meditation; smooth even breaths, he followed the path his breathing took, his mind clear. He imagined his addiction as a small tree, it was black with branches that twisted. It held no leaves, no living thing would go near it, and the grass around it was dead.

At first the tree had been enormous, but little by little Dean had made it smaller. He was stronger than his addiction, he was stronger than the evil; it was a small tree and it held no power over him.

* * *

Then Dean would walk; reaching a wheat field, he swore he could feel the heat from the sun against his back, the warm fragrant air, what was that smell…Lavender and Rosemary. His mother loved Lavender and Rosemary! He smiled at the memory as his fingers graced the tops of the tall plants.

He walked a while longer and saw his father. "Dad" A warm smile caresses his pink lips.

"Dad!" John turned around. He learned his lesson the first time and ran to Dean and hugged him.

"Thank god, thank god, are you okay?" he pulled Dean away, a smile was across his eldest son's face, he noticed an elderly man behind him.

The man had an inquisitive look on his face "This is very odd, this isn't suppose to happen." The old oriental man exclaimed.

"Who are you?" John inquired, pulling his boy behind him.

"I am a helper, a healer, a guide, your son is a warrior. I intend…" Before the man could finish, the same long grotesque fingers dug deep into the man, pulling him away, he disappeared.

Dean started to panic, what was happening? Before he knew it, he felt a slight pain in his abdomen as something pulled him away.

* * *

Dean startled awake; he felt a pain in the same place as in his meditative world and held out a bloody hand. He sat-up and saw Suzuki sitting on the couch with one of his hand made swords through his chest.

"Oh my god…what happened?" Dean said frantically as he ran to his friend.

Suzuki gasped for air, his hands intertwined with the sword covered with his own blood.

"I…I…ne ..vvver…mea…nt…to…hhhhharmmm. Evvvillll…spspspirit…use…mmmy…body."

"Take it easy, what evil spirit?" Dean put his hands on top of Suzuki's chest, blood covering them quickly.

"Dooonnnn't knnowww….I….helllp...yyyyou…..itttt…..wwas….me……but….he ….takee….my….bboodddyyy……ttttoooo…..hhhurt….you….wawa…."

His breath hitched, gasping; he coughed out some blood and some of it landed on the young man's face. In a few moments he took his last breath, and his head fell to one side, his eyes still open.

Dean knew what Suzuki meant by an evil spirit using his body, he was possessed, but when? And why….to hurt Dean? Who could have done this?

Dean got-up quickly and came face to face with a tall, slender, pale man. His fingers were long and thin and his nails were long and circular in shape. He had scars on his face; at least at first that's what they appeared to be. At closer inspection they were…slits in his cheeks…four of them! He wore a long black coat that touched the floor and covered his body.

Dean shuddered at his grotesque appearance, "You son of bitch! You killed him."

"I did." The creature said with a smile

"Who are you?" Dean screamed.

The creature moved forward and Dean moved back, "I have many names, but I will tell you the one I know you will know the best. I am the devil." Dean gasped as he stumbled back…he crawled backwards until his back hit the wall.

The devil laughed, "That's the usual response when people meet me," he moved closer until he was almost on top of Dean, "Now, we have business."

"Business? I have no business with you, you evil son of bitch!" Dean screamed, then realization came to his eyes "You…your Luke Sullivan, that's one of the names you go by."

The devil shook his head "No, I'm not, Luke is my son. Your brother is my slave," he said with a wicked smile. "Now, as I said, we have business. When you were recovering from your addiction, we made a deal and I'm here to collect."

Dean started to pant, a deal! Sam had made a deal…Sam was this thing's slave! Dean made a deal...he'd be…_oh god no!_

"Sorry, but you're in my realm now, I own you, bitch!" the devil said with a laugh that sent a chill up and down Dean's spine.

"I make a lot of deals, most…" he turned around and put his arms behind him, coiling his long, grotesque fingers around one of his wrists.

"No, I never made a deal….I would never…." Dean screamed, trying desperately to wrap his mind around what was happening.

"You made one, you just don't remember." The devil smiled, Dean stared at him with still disbelieving eyes, he was lying…..he had to be.

"While you were recovering from you're little……problem, I possessed your little friend here." He pointed to Suzuki whose eyes were still open, staring at Dean, accusing him of killing him.

"I still don't believe you." Dean whispered part of him was starting to believe he had made a deal.

"You just don't remember I never collect on an invalid deal. Do you want to know what you made the deal for?" The devil smiled, exposing his sharp fang like teeth and turning around, Dean nodded "You made a deal to find Sam. I will honor our deal, you will be lead to you're little brother." Dean was silent he didn't know what to make of what was happening.

The devil stood there pleased with the outcome of this deal. He never collected on invalid deals, but he didn't have to reveal the other half of the deal, to save Sam, he still had use for Sam.

"Anyways, as I was saying before you interrupted me, people want something, something they can never have, I fulfill their deepest wants, needs, and desires, when the deal is over, I send a collector to collect on the deal." he said tightening his grip on his right wrist. "I have two types of; I guess you could say employees…" He said with a gleeful look on his face.

"The first type, are dealers; Luke is a dealer, he sets up deals, I fulfills the desire, needs, wants, whatever, he's sort of like a middle man, and after ten years my collectors, Sam is a collector, collects the other half of the deal…their souls. When Sam collects, he sends their souls to hell."

Dean stood and assumed a defiant disposition. "You're lying!" he spat out.

"Oh, you really believe that don't you?" the devil said with fake concern. Dean could tell he was enjoying himself.

"Demons lie!" Dean stated, holding onto this fact as if his life depended on it. He sure felt like it did.

"I told you, I'm the devil, I'm no demon. Is it so difficult to believe that you filthy creatures would be so hard to tempt. Look at you; you were so easy to hook onto heroin, so willing to kill anyone or anything that harmed your precious little family!"

He moved to the fireplace, putting his hand to the warmth, "You drink, womanize, and judge people without hearing the whole story and you gamble. You're willing to do anything for money, no matter what the cost to property…or to life."

"That's not true." Dean yelled, he had a conscious, maybe some of the other things were true, and with all honesty, he didn't know what would happen to him in the hereafter, but he knew that wasn't true.

"It isn't?" He said with astonishment "You don't remember what happened when you were fifteen, you're dad was short on money, you met a man who was willing to pay you cash to set fire to an old abandoned warehouse."

Dean stiffened, he remembered it like it was yesterday.

The devil turned his head towards Dean, "Oh, you remember." A smile spread across his face, opening up the slits in his cheeks. Dean shuddered again.

"What was the outcome Dean?" He pause waiting for an answer and never received one "Oh right, it spread and you couldn't control it, the fire grew to the building nearby and someone got hurt."

"I never took the money." Dean whispered

"It doesn't matter."

"I was just trying to help my dad." Dean defended, he regretted that day ever since it happened.

"You're intentions were good." Dean nodded "The road to hell is paved with good intentions, my boy." He smiled again, knowing he was getting somewhere.

"Anyway, back to what I was saying. You will be a collector; I have high hopes for you. You're already very detached when it comes to your _job_, so I'm hoping you will rise to dealer very soon."

"Fuck you! I'll never work for you!" Dean shouted. The devil moved at lightning speed and was in front of Dean instantly. He grabbed John's eldest son's face, forcing his mouth open. The devil opened his mouth and a thin, white mist came out of Dean's mouth and into the devil's.

Dean fell to the ground, unconscious, than Dean awoke, startled he saw that the devil was still standing over him.

"Get-up, I have work for you to do." He grabbed Dean around the arm tightly, Dean winced at the pain.

"I'm not going anywhere with you." Dean screamed as he struggled.

"You have no choice, trust me you don't want to go against me….." He paused, than a malicious look came to his eyes. "You know Sam was punished, do you want to know what happened to him?"

Before Dean could answer the devil grabbed his head pulling him up.

_Flash_

_Sam was on the ground, bleeding from his face and hands_

_Flash_

_Sam was in between two rows of tortured souls, a poll rising up behind him_

_Flash _

_Sam running, pulled backwards towards the poll, bound to the poll by sharp thorny vines_

_Flash_

_Someone torturing Sam, whipping him, piercing his flesh, deep, red, slashes…. the pain, Dean felt the pain he screamed in agony._

_Flash _

_Sam was back in his apartment, lying on the floor, his hands bandaged, bleeding, numerous, deep scars all over his body._

Dean fell to the ground, he screamed, a tear fell down his cheek, he quickly went to his sword where it still laid on the floor, removing it from its sheath, and charged the devil, who caught the sword with his hand by the blade.

"Tsk, tsk, Dean, don't you know you can't kill me." The devil took hold of the sword and threw it to the side.

He grabbed Dean and forced him out the door, on the way out Dean mouthed the words "I'm sorry." To his friend who wouldn't even get a decent barrel.

They went to Dean's Impala "This is the address I want you to go to." He pulled out a piece of paper from his coat and handed it to Dean "It's Luke's address, your new master, you will obey every order he gives you."

"What about Sam?"

"Don't worry, he'll be there, but I want you to go to Luke first."

Before Dean could say anything the devil was gone, a thin black smoke was left in his wake. He looked at the piece of paper and got into the car.

* * *

**Now, Dean is in the same predicament as Sam how do you guys think he will save Sam and himself? Press the button and give me your two cents:)**


	11. Chapter 11

I have decided to stop posting on this website, there haven't been any reviews, and with the work that I put into this story and to get no reviews is very disheartening. If you love this story go to http://z14. to everyone who has R&R on my story.


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